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fl 

THE PLAIN MISS CRAY 



THE PLAIN 
MISS CRAY 


By FLORENCE WARDEN 

Author of ‘‘The House on the Marsh,’* 
“Joan, The Curate,” : : Etc., Etc. 



New York; 

F. M, BUCKLES & COMPANY 

9 AND II East Sixteenth Street 


LONDON: F. V. WHITE & CO. 
1900 


37807 _ 

jlllbl’tKi y <>T 

I ' WO toPits Hiu Nto 

AUG 23 1900 

CopyngM intry 

SECOND COPY. 

Delivered to 

ORDER DIVISION, 

AUG 27 1900 


V 



Copyright, 1900 
BY 

F. M. BUCKIvES & COMPANY 


jB 87 : 69 : 







T^he Plain Miss Craj>. 


CONTENTS 

CH/P. PAGE 

I. The Beauty and the Foil 7 

II. The Evolution of a Good Match 21 

III. A Challenge 33 

IV. The Wanderer’s Return 54 

V. A Cold Reception 59 

VI. An Explanation 77 

VII. What the Bachelors Thought. 87 

VIII. Mr. and Mrs. Martin Laffan 102 

IX. Luke, the Scamp 115 

X. A Warning Note 128 

XI. A Friend 140 

XII. The Blow Falls 154 

XIII. The Stranger 166 

XIV. His Story 181 

XV. A Truce 192 

XVI. A Quiet Pipe 205 

V 


vi Contents. 

CHAP. PAGE 

XVII. Misunderstandings 219 

XVIII. Face to Face 229 

XIX. A Mysterious Wound 247 

XX. Blackmail ’ 263 

XXI. The Summons 274 

XXII. The Burglary 285 

XXIII. A Shock for Mrs. Cray 301 

XXIV. An Accident 316 


THE PLAIN MISS CRAY. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE BEAUTY AND THE FOIL. 

In the wildest part of a wild Irish county, a 
hot August sun was setting, shedding floods of 
warm light over the most dilapidated country 
house and neglected garden that ever held a 
tenant. 

The building itself, long, low and irregular, 
of vague architecture but picturesque outlines, 
showed row upon row of shuttered and dirty 
windows, and only the western half of the 
house gave any sign of being inhabited. Even 
that portion looked forlorn enough, and sug- 
gested rather the perfunctory attentions of a 
caretaker than the careful eye of master or 
mistress. 

In the grounds about the house things looked 
more neglected still. A wide lawn, on parts 
of which the grass grew high and rank, while 
in other places it was quite bare, stretched be- 
fore the south front of the mansion, with an 

7 


8 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

ill-kept terrace leading from the one to the 
other. On the western side of the lawn an 
ancient cedar spread its ragged branches, and 
under these the ground was dry and hard, and 
almost bare of a trace of green. High yews 
and distorted clumps of box stretched out 
straggling arms on each side of the lawn, en- 
croaching on space which was not meant for 
them. And beyond the lawn, with no attempt 
at concealment, the homely potato, over the 
space of something like a quarter of an acre, 
flourished unabashed. 

These surroundings made the group which 
was gathered under the cedar look strangely 
incongruous and out of place. 

In a shabby and broken-down wicker chair 
sat a handsome and dignified lady with silver 
hair, whose mild face wore a look of undis- 
guised annoyance. She was pouring out tea 
from a cracked earthenware teapot, and hand- 
ing it round in cups of different shapes and 
sizes. 

On the ruin of a garden seat near her sat a 
lady who at first sight looked young enough 
to be her daughter ; it was only on close in- 
spection that one would have discovered more 
of art than nature in the youthful complexion 
and the well-bleached hair. She also was 
evidently in a state of some anxiety ; but she 
held herself better in check than her white- 


9 


The Beauty and the Foil. 

haired companion, and smiled alternately at 
her hostess, at the landscape, and at her two 
daughters, who were conversing together, the 
one on the steps, the other sitting on the balus- 
trade of the terrace. 

Mrs. Laffan, the white-haired lady, was ex- 
pressing her feelings to her companion with 
something like bitterness. 

“ In the circumstances, I feel that I owe you 
no end of apologies for bringing you over here 
at all. But you must know that when I asked 
you to come I hadn’t arrived here myself, and 
I had no idea how Martin had let the place 
run wild, nor, indeed, how he had run wild 
himself. It appears, by what I hear from the 
servants, the old fossils he keeps here to do 
nothing all day long, that these expeditions of 
his are of very frequent occurrence. He’s 
been away more than a month now, and no- 
body knows where he is, or when he’s coming 
back.” 

Mrs. Jesmond-Cray, her young-looking com- 
panion, laughed with rather artificial good 
humor. 

“ Dear me, how charmingly eccentric !” she 
cooed, in a voice which carried its hearers 
straight back to the atmosphere of London 
drawing-rooms. “ Ethel, my dear ” — and she 
turned her head toward her daughters — “ do 
you hear that ? ” Then, without waiting for 


lo The Plain Miss Cray. 

any response, she continued to her hostess, 
“ My Ethel adores independence of character, 
anything out of the common, in man or wo- 
man.” And again she looked towards the 
balustrade. “ Isn’t that delightful, dear, a man 
who disappears without any warning for a 
month at a time ? ” 

The elder Miss Cray, a sallow girl, -with gray 
eyes and hair of no particular color, glanced 
down from the balustrade. 

“ I don’t know Mr. Laffan, mama, so I 
can’t tell whether his absence is more delight- 
ful than his presence,” she answered in a voice 
which was neither loud nor shrill, but which 
had a singular quality of compelling atten- 
tion. 

Mrs. Jesmond-Cray looked for a moment as 
if undecided whether to be amused or dis- 
pleased by this sally, but finally she decided to 
make the best of it, and turned again to Mrs. 
Laffan with another laugh. 

“ I mean, of course, that it’s delightfully un- 
conventional. My Ethel has such a sharp 
tongue. I’m always telling her that she’ll never 
get married if she doesn’t put some guard upon 
it. The young men are afraid of her, positively 
afraid. But men who are a little older, in 
their prime, in fact, delight in her bright talk. 
She quite puts poor Gladys in the shade, ex- 
cept for those who admire a pretty face and 


The Beauty and the Foil. ii 

a childlike, amiable disposition before every- 
thing.” 

“ Gladys is very pretty, certainly,” said Mrs. 
Laffan, thus called upon to say something. 

Mrs. Jesmond-Cray uttered an affectionate 
sigh. 

“ She’s a dear child. And the offers she’s 
had ! Four since last March, really ! ” 

Mrs. Laffan raised her eyebrows discreetly. 

“ She’s engaged, then, I suppose ? ” 

“ No. She’s very particular. She’s not a 
girl who cares for mere boys, for instance. 
She — ” 

At this point, Ethel’s voice broke in upon 
her mother’s rash confidences. 

“ Mama, ask Mrs. Laffan to tell you the 
story of the family ghost. You have one, 
haven’t you ? ” 

Mrs. Laffan shuddered. 

“ Oh, Prickett can tell you about that. Ask 
him one question, and he’s wound up for an 
hour. They talk about the difficulty of getting 
servants to stay with you nowadays ; my son’s 
difficulty is to get rid of them.” 

As Mrs. Laffan finished speaking, Gladys, 
who was near enough to hear her words, sprang 
up from her seat on the broken stone steps, 
and, avoiding her sister’s restraining hand, ran 
into the shadow of the cedar. 

“ Oh, and I should like to hear about the 


12 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

murder ! There was a real murder committed 
here, wasn’t there, only three years ago ? ” 

Mrs. Laffan rose, and frowned as she an- 
swered, — 

“ Yes, there was, unfortunately. My son’s 
agent was murdered by a shot fired from be- 
hind a hedge, and it was that which brought 
Martin over here. He came to try to find out 
the man that did it, and bring him to justice ; 
and he couldn’t do that, for the man had left 
the country. But Martin took a fancy to the 
place, and I’ve never been able to get him back 
to civilization.” 

“ Dear me ! ” said Mrs. Jesmond-Cray. 
“ Then, he’s become aconfirmed old bachelor, 
I suppose, and his uncle, Beckingham Laffan, 
will succeed to the property ? ” 

“ That’s just what I’m afraid of,” said Mrs. 
Laffan, with increasing irritation. “And it is 
to make one last effort to bring him back to the 
world that I’ve come over here. When I sug- 
gested it, he agreed at once. And when I said 
I should bring some nice, lively people, he 
told me I could bring whom I pleased. And 
this is the way he treats us. Doesn’t even take 
the trouble to remember that we’re here, and 
come to meet us. He’s grown a savage, a 
perfect savage. When he does turn up, I ex- 
pect to find him dressed in skins, like Robin- 
son Crusoe.” 


13 


The Beauty and the Foil. 

“This is really interesting, Mrs. Laffan,” cried 
Ethel. “ I shall be bitterly disappointed if he 
doesn’t turn up until we’re gone.” 

“ I think,” put in Gladys, “ I shall be rather 
afraid of him.” 

“And if he shouldn’t put in an appearance,” 
asked Mrs. Cray, with ill-concealed anxiety, 
“ what society shall we have ? ” 

“None,” said Mrs. Laffan, blandly. “At 
least, none worth mentioning. Beckingham 
Laffan has wired to say that he’s coming, but 
I’m afraid you won’t care much about him. 
And young Oswin Smith, I don’t know whether 
you know him ? ” 

“ Oswin Smith ! I think not. Who is he ? ” 

“Well, he’s a stockbroker.” 

A gleam of hope crossed Mrs. Jesmond-Cray’s 
rather too ingenuous countenance. 

“Very well off, I suppose?” she asked 
casually. 

“ Well, no, he isn’t,” answered Mrs. Laffan, 
in the same bland tone as before. “ He hasn’t 
a sixpence, I believe.” 

Mrs. Jesmond-Cray shrugged her shoulders. 

“ A stockbroker who is not well off has no 
excuse for existence. Good family, I sup- 
pose ? ” 

“Well, no, I believe his father was in trade.” 

“Then how does he get among decent 
people ? ” asked Mrs. Cray, tartly. 


14 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

“ My dear,” answered Mrs. Laffan, with 
suavity which suggested that she found a mali- 
cious pleasure in her companion’s discomfiture, 
“ one never asks that question nowadays. You 
find the fly in the amber, and it’s enough for 
you to know that it’s there. But Oswin’s a 
dear fellow, and a great friend of Martin’s. 
He comes to him every year for the shooting. 
He’s one of those good-natured creatures whom 
you can treat anyhow, and put up anywhere, 
and who will do anything for anybody, and 
who are always good-tempered and obliging. 
I wonder you didn’t see him on the journey. 
You crossed by the Mail the night before 
last, and stayed a night in Dublin, didn’t 
you ?” 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Cray. 

“Well, that’s just whatOswin was going to 
do.” 

A sort of consternation appeared to seize 
Ethel and Gladys at the same time. Almost 
at the same moment they exclaimed, — 

“ Oh, mama ! ” 

“What, dears ? ” 

“ Do you think,” said Gladys, “ it can have 
been that odious — ” 

“That creature who was on the boat ? ” put 
in Ethel. 

But Mrs. Jesmond-Cray only laughed. 

“That — that unspeakable person who swore 


The Beauty and the Foil. 15 

at the porters, and took the only car ! Why, 
no, of course not ! ” 

But Ethel and Gladys looked at each other 
with suspicious eyes. 

‘‘ I believe it was he,” said Gladys, in a low 
voice to her sister. “ He came on to Galway. 
I saw him on the platform.” 

“ If it is,” returned Ethel, promptly, without 
raising her voice, “we’ll pack mama up and 
be off the first thing to-morrow morning. But 
I’ll give him a lesson first.” 

Mrs. Jesmond-Cray’s dejection was getting 
more and more apparent. 

“ But are there no nice people in the neigh- 
borhood ? ” almost wailed she at last. 

“ There may be,” said Mrs. Laffan, placidly, 
“ but, if so, they fight shy of Abbey Mallow and 
its master. I’ve been here ten days, and I’ve 
seen nobody but a couple of fellow-savages of 
Martin’s, who turn up regularly every evening 
to see whether he’s come back yet. Each has 
a beautiful brogue, and their names are Gerald 
Power and Sir Michael O’Keeffe. Sir Michael 
has a coat without a collar and farms his own 
land. Mr. Power has a rather better coat, but 
he can’t farm his own land, or do anything 
else.” 

The two girls looked at each other and 
laughed in amusement. To do them justice, 
they seemed to bear no share in their mother’s 


1 6 The Plain Miss Cray. 

dejection, but took everything as it came with 
good humor and girlish enjoyment. 

In the pause which followed Mrs. Laffan’s 
speech, Prickett, the ancient butler, a dil- 
apidated-looking person whose appearance 
matched the decayed state of the mansion, 
came slowly down the steps and announced 
that Mr. Beckingham Laffan was in the draw- 
ing-room. Mrs. Laffan passed near enough 
to Mrs. Cray’s chair to say a few words in a low 
voice in her ear. 

“I think I’d better go in and stroke it, and 
give it a lump of sugar, or it may bite when it’s 
brought among you all.” 

The ladies smiled and nodded to each other, 
and Mrs. Laffan moved slowly up the broken 
steps, spoke a few words to the girls as she 
passed them, and entered the house. 

The moment the French windows had 
closed behind her hostess, Mrs. Jesmond-Cray 
seemed to become a different woman. The 
artificial smile immediately became a frown, 
and into her carefully-modulated voice there 
came a tartness which caused the girls to ex- 
change looks as, in obedience to a gesture of 
their mother’s hand, they came close enough 
to her to hear every word of her angry speech. 

“ I don’t know what Mrs. Laffan was think- 
ing about to bring us down to this hole, where 
there isn’t even a chair with four legs or a door 


17 


The Beauty and the Foil. 

with a lock to it, and with nothing to do but to 
sit looking at that man digging up potatoes ! ” 

She glanced disdainfully at a ragged young 
man, of wild and unkempt appearance, who 
had been lazily digging up potatoes all the 
time that the ladies had been at tea. Every 
now and then he would pause, and passing a 
rough hand across his forehead, where the tan- 
gled black hair hung heavily, he would look 
furtively from under his black brows at the 
group of gaily-dressed ladies, before bending 
his back again to his work. They looked away 
when the stealthy black eyes met theirs. There 
seemed to be something sinister about the man, 
whose dark skin and heavy jaw, long upper lip 
and coal-black hair, combined with his bushy 
black eyebrows to give him an aspect fiercer 
and more striking than that of an ordinary field 
laborer. 

Even as Mrs. Cray spoke, the man looked 
up, though he was out of earshot, and scowled 
at her furtively. The lady moved her head 
impatiently with a little petulant frown. 

“ Potatoes indeed ! ” she murmured scorn- 
fuly. “ The idea of growing potatoes close to 
the very house ! ” 

The two girls, how^ever, were very far from 
sharing their mother’s feelings. Ethel, the 
elder, threw herself into the chair Mrs. I.affan 
had left, and began to fan herself with one of 


1 8 The Plain Miss Cray. 

the big dock-leaves with which this very un- 
conventional garden was somewhat liberally 
supplied. 

“ Oh, mother ! ” cried she, with a peace- 
ful sigh, “ but it’s a blessed thing to be able, 
for once in a way, to think about nothing but 
potatoes.” 

The soft little voice of Gladys, which, had in 
it a caressing note, both childlike and charm- 
ing, echoed her sister’s sentiment. 

“ Oh, and I like it too ! I met such an 
awfully nice man this morning, who helped 
me across the brook at the end of that field. 
He was dressed like a laborer, but he wasn’t a 
laborer ; he was a gentleman. I wonder if 
he was one of those friends of her son that 
Mrs. Laffan spoke about.” 

Mrs. Cray groaned. 

“ Now, Gladys,” cried she, plaintively, “ I 
will not have you beginning one of those disas- 
trous flirtations you are so fond of. You can- 
not marry a man who dresses like a farm la- 
borer, whoever he may be. And you cannot 
afford to waste any more time. Already people 
are asking how many seasons you’ve been out ; 
and if this Martin Laffan doesn’t put in an ap- 
pearance within a very few days, we must 
simply look upon our summer as wasted, and 
go back to town. I can’t risk your getting into 
mischief again.” 


The Beauty and the Foil. 19 

In Gladys’s voice was a tearful note as she 
protested meekly, — 

“ Oh, mother, don’t be unkind.” 

Ethel, from her chair, stretched out a lov- 
ing arm to encircle her pretty younger sister, 
and laid her own head tenderly on the girl’s 
arm. But Mrs. Cray had not finished her 
lecture. 

“ Mind,” she said more sharply than ever, 
“ you are to have nothing to say to this Oswin 
Smith, whatever he may be like. You hear he 
hasn’t sixpence.” 

“ Mother ! ” broke in Ethel, with that curi- 
ously incisive tone which compelled atten- 
tion, “do leave the poor child alone. Here, 
where there are no buyers, you might let her 
forget for a moment that she’s in the market, 
and expected to sell at a good figure,” 

But this protest only increased Mrs. Jes- 
mond-Cray’s ill-humor. She turned upon her 
elder daughter tartly, — 

“ Surely you can be satisfied to have lost 
your own chances, without encouraging Gladys 
in the same direction. There is no greater 
disgrace for a woman than to have to drag 
about with her two old-maid daughters.” 

At that moment a querulous old man’s voice 
from one of the windows came to the ears of 
the ladies. Mrs. Cray broke off in her har- 
angue and swept up from her chair with a 


20 The Plain Miss Cray. 

rapid movement in the direction of her 
daughters. 

“Here comes that horrid old man, nagging 
at Mrs. Latfan for bringing girls to the place. 
Let us go and hide among the gooseberry 
bushes, until he’s got over the worst of his ill- 
temper.’’ 

And Mrs. Cray hurried the girls away with 
her behind the shelter of the straggling laurels 
and yews, presumably to get over the worst of 
hers. 


CHAPTER II. 


THE EVOLUTION OF A GOOD MATCH. 

Both the appearance and voice of Mr. 
Beckingham Laffan, who was by this time 
slowly making his gouty way across the terrace 
with his hostess, justified Mrs. Jesmond-Cray 
in her unwillingness to hasten the moment of 
meeting. 

A small, lean, withered man, bent prema- 
turely with gout, and with acidulated wrinkles 
and furrows round his mouth and eyes, he was 
grumbling at his sister-in-law in tones which 
betrayed as much ill-temper as is compatible 
with decency. 

“ I don’t know why you couldn’t leave 
Martin alone,” he muttered, not even taking 
pains to find out whether the other ladies were 
out of earshot. “ Surely a man of his age — 
he’s forty this year — might be allowed to live 
his own life in peace.” 

But Mrs. Laffan, while preserving a court- 
eous good humor, was not willing to allow her- 
self to be bullied by the angry old gentleman. 

“ Surely there’s nothing unnatural,” she re- 


22 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

torted mildly, “ in my wanting to pay a visit 
to my own son, considering that I haven’t seen 
him for three years ! ” 

“ And wouldn’t have cared if you hadn’t 
seen him for another three, I daresay ! ” grum- 
bled the amiable Beckingham, “ if you hadn’t 
taken it into your head that you must worry 
him into marrying ! ” 

“ Marrying ! My dear Beckingham, what 
has put that into your head ? ” 

“ Oh, don’t talk to me ! Do you think I 
don’t know what those two ballroom hacks and 
their hungry-eyed mother have been brought 
here for ? ” You must look upon him as 
a savage indeed, or you would have un- 
earthed something fresher to bait your hook 
with,” 

At that moment there was a diversion of 
Mrs. Laffan’s attention ; for a young man, in 
traveling clothes of the very latest cut, who 
bore upon him the distinct impress of Bond 
Street and Piccadilly, appeared at the door at 
the end of the terrace, followed by the old 
butler, Prickett, with a long string of explana- 
tions. 

“Yes, sir,” Prickett was saying, as he kept 
close at the newcomer’s heels, with a certain 
air of affectionate respect, which showed the 
guest to be a well-remembered one, “ my mas- 
ter’s been away a month now, on the coast 


The Evolution of a Good Match. 23 

somewhere, shooting and fishing and boating ; 
he went off quite sudden, just as you know he 
has a habit of doing, sir, and we never know 
from day to day when to expect him.” The 
old servant’s tone changed to one of remon- 
strance and disgust. “And when he does 
come back, sir, what a change he’ll find ? In- 
stead of having the place all to ourselves as 
we’ve had it for years, it’s overrun, sir, with 
ladies, sir, ladies from London, and a very dif- 
ferent sort from those that used to come in 
the time of Mr. Martin’s father — ” 

The new arrival interrupted the old man’s 
rambling grievances with some impatience. 

“ Ah, well, as Mr. Martin’s father’s been 
dead some thirty years, I don’t suppose he’ll 
mind.” 

Before the old servant could recover breath 
to go on with his tale of woe, Mrs. Laffan had 
left Beckingham for a few moments by the 
balustrade, and come forward to greet the 
new guest. 

“My dear Oswin, I thought you were going 
to play us false. Mrs. Cray — Mrs. Jesmond- 
Cray and her daughters — you know them, I 
suppose ? They came down this morning, but 
it seems they saw nothing of you.” 

By this time she had given the young man 
a rather careless touch of the fingers, and it 
had occurred to her to feel a slight surprise 


24 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

that he had returned this salutation with ex- 
actly the same measure of warmth. 

“ No, I don’t know them,” he answered at 
once, in a rather constrained and dry voice. 
“I’ve heard of them, of course. Widow of a 
colonel who just missed coming into a baro- 
netcy. Widow can’t forget the baronetcy. 
Two daughters who won’t go off. Odd that 
they didn’t see me coming over. I saw them.” 

While he spoke, the countenance of his 
hearer had undergone a gradual change. Be- 
fore he had finished speaking, she had seated 
herself in the nearest garden chair, and begun 
to regard him with a puzzled look. 

When, at last, he finished speaking, there 
was a little pause before Mrs. Laffan said, with 
something like a gasp, — 

“Well, I’m beginning to think that— perhaps 
— they did ! Of course, you’ve heard that 
Martin’s away ? ” 

“ Yes,” answered Oswin, indignantly. “ And 
I call it beastly cheek of a fellow to drag one 
over here to a place that’s off the map, and not to 
take the trouble to turn up to meet him ! ” 

“ Shocking, isn’t it? And he’s treated Mrs. 
Cray and the girls in the same way, which is 
worse ! ” 

Oswin looked doubtful. 

“ Well, I don’t know that it’s worse. But 
it’s pretty bad ! ” 


The Evolution of a Good Match. 25 

Mrs. Laffan looked more puzzled than 
ever. 

“ Well, atanyrate, nowyou’re here, you’ll help 
to amuse the poor things, and keep us going.” 

“ I don’t mind talking to the pretty one, and 
I’ll stay a few days, on the chance of Martin’s 
turning up, if only you’ll undertake to keep 
those pre-historic dependents away from me. 
I’ve just been cuddled by a septuagenarian 
housekeeper, and had my head talked off by 
the centenarian, Prickett, and I only just escaped 
the clutches of a lady who must have been 
cook to Martin’s great-grandfather.” 

“ He won’t get rid of fhe old servants ! ” 
said Mrs. Laffan, with a laugh. “ Martin’s so 
good-natured ! By-the-by, you won’t mind if 
you’re put in a very small room, not very well- 
furnished, will you ? I’m told it’s the one you 
had last year.” 

“ Last year ! ” echoed Oswin, raising his eye- 
brows. “ I’m really awfully sorry, Mrs. Laffan, 
but I must decline absolutely to sleep in the 
room I had last year. I couldn’t turn round in 
it. But I’ve no objection, if I’m in the way, to 
putting up at the local inn, if there is a local 
inn.” 

“ Really — ” began Mrs. Laffan, more puzzled 
than ever. And then, to her great relief, the 
ladies came round the straggling hedge, and 
Beckingham, who had ostentatiously turned 


26 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

his back upon Oswin, as upon some mean 
thing unworthy of notice, greeted them with 
sub-acid civility. Mrs. Laffan exchanged a 
few words with Mrs. Cray, and again turned to 
the latest arrival. “ Oswin, I find Mrs. Cray 
and her daughters did see you on the way 
down. Let me introduce you. Mr. Oswin 
Smith — Mrs. Jesmond-Cray — Miss — ” 

But Ethel did not wait for the introduction 
to be completed. She turned her back upon 
him, and went up the terrace. Mrs. Laffan 
covered this action as well as she could. 

“ Oh — er — Miss Gladys Cray." 

“ Beastly traveling this time of year, isn’t 
it ? ” said Oswin. 

But Mrs. Jesmond-Cray was supremely 
frigid. 

“ Not when one’s fellow-travelers are decent 
people,” she retorted haughtily, as she turned 
to follow Mrs. Laffan. 

Thus left for the moment face to face with 
Gladys, Oswin glanced at her mother with a 
dry smile. 

“ You don’t know Martin himself, do you 
Miss Cray ? ” 

Gladys threw a frightened glance in the 
direction of her mother, who was at that mo- 
ment speaking in a low, angry voice to Ethel. 

“ No, I don’t know him yet,” she said in a 
low, timid voice. “ It was Mrs. Laffan who 


The Evolution of a Good Match. 27 

asked us here. He’s rather a dreadful person, 
isn’t he ? ” 

“ It depends upon the point of view,” said 
Oswin, who had changed the rather dry ag- 
aggressive manner which he had worn while 
speaking to the disdainful elderly ladies, and 
dropped instinctively into the ordinary manner 
of a well-bred man speaking to a lady. “ To 
me, he’s the dearest old chap in the world, the 
only man I’d cross the Irish Channel to see. 
But to ladies— well, perhaps he would seem 
rather a rough sort of a customer. He’s a bit 
of a woman-hater, you know.” 

“ A woman-hater ! Oh, how dreadful ! 
Will he be very rude to us, do you think ? ” 

“ Rude ! Oh, no. But he may be abrupt 
and shy.” 

“ Won’t he dance, or play tennis, or any- 
thing ? ” 

“No, he certainly won’t. For all those 
things you’ll be dependent upon me, so you’ll 
have to be very civil.” 

“ Oh, dear, I don’t suppose mama will let 
me ! ” cried Gladys, helplessly, like a child. 

To give point to this remark, Mrs. Jesmond- 
Cray at that moment cried out sharply, 
“ Gladys ! ” 

The girl shrugged her shoulders. 

“ There, you see ! ” she said softly, as she 
obediently turned to obey her mother’s call. 


28 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

Beckingham shuffled quietly into the place 
where she had been standing, and looked ma- 
liciously out of his wrinkled eyes at the young 
man. 

“ Thought you’d get pulled up ! ” snarled he. 
“ You’re only here to make the running for 
Martin ! ” 

Oswin dryly chuckled. 

“Oh, I shall go up in the betting presently,’’ 
said he. “ You don’t know all the secrets of 
the stable.’’ 

“ Oh, well, I wish you luck ! ’’ said Becking- 
ham, grimly. 

“ More than I want, I daresay,” said Oswin, 
easily. “ I’ve no more intention of winning the 
race than Martin has. But a flirtation with a 
silly, pretty girl is part of the programme of a 
country house visit.” 

Beckingham stroked his chin suspiciously. 

“ The sister has brains, though,” said he at 
last. 

“And to spare. I hate clever women!” 
said Oswin. 

“ Well, I hope Martin does,” cried Becking- 
ham, fervently. Then, recollecting himself, 
he added quickly, “At least, I mean — ” 

Oswin interrupted him, smiling. 

“ Why go through the farce of saying what 
you do not mean, Mr. Laffan ? Of course we 
know you don’t want Martin to marry and 


The Evolution of a Good Match. 29 

have a family, and spoil your chance of coming 
into the property ? ” 

“ You put things crudely, very crudely,” 
said Beckingham Laffan, annoyed at being 
found out. “ I should be delighted to see my 
nephew married, if it would make him any 
happier. But it wouldn’t. Martin finds his 
happiness in a bachelor life, as I do. Isn’t it 
indecent, positively indecent, to make this on- 
slaught upon him now ? ” 

“ Don’t be afraid, Mr. Laffan. If Martin 
can’t resist the wiles of this match-making 
mama, he’ll never be safe.” 

“I’m sure I hope he can — for his sake, not 
mine. What good would this tumble-down 
old barn, and heaps of unlet farms, and 
tenants who want to be paid to stay, be to 
me?” He turned abruptly to Mrs. Laffan, 
who had drawn a little nearer to the two men. 
“ I suppose, Myra, the rats have been allowed 
to eat up the pictures, and the pigs to feed out 
of the old silver plate ? ” 

“ Perhaps you had better go and see for 
yourself, Beckingham,” she answered, rather 
coldly. 

Oswin broke in, — 

“ If you really want some pictures and plate, 
Mr. Laffan, I can let you have a few cart-loads 
very cheap indeed.” 

Mrs. Laffan turned sharply. 


30 The Plain Miss Cray. 

“ You, Oswin ! What arc you talking 
about ? ” 

“Pictures and plate,” answered the young 
man, simply. “They belonged to an uncle of 
mine, who died about two months ago in a 
little town in Worcestershire.” 

“ Why, I never knew you had an uncle ! ” 

“ Well,” explained Oswin, “ he made his 
money in a lot of small shops, where he sold 
the worst possible boots, and butter, and but- 
tons at the best possible prices. So we found 
it convenient to forget him while he was alive. 
But when he died intestate, and I was found 
to be his next-of-kin, why, he came back to our 
minds with quite a rush.” 

“ And did you get anything besides the pic- 
tures and plate ? ” asked Mrs. Laffan, giving 
utterance to thoughts which gleamed in Mrs. 
Jesmond-Cray’s interested eyes. 

“ Yes,” said Oswin, “ he left some houses, 
and some public-houses, and a theater, and of 
course the shops. With some little odds and 
ends in the shape of consols and railway shares, 
they will bring me in about three or four 
thousand a year.” 

“ Three or four thousand a year ! ” echoed 
Mrs. Laffan, in surprise. “Why, you’re a rich 
man, Oswin ! I suppose now you’ll get away 
from that horrid Stock Exchange ? ” 

“ I think not,” returned he, sententiously. 


The Evolution of a Good Match. 31 

“ To get away from the Stock Exchange, one 
must get away from the nineteeth century.” 

“ That’s very good, very good indeed,” put 
in Mrs. Cray, laughing with great appreciation. 
“ So true, isn’t it, Mr. Laffan ? ” 

Beckingham stared at Oswin with a grim 
look on his old face. 

“ H’m, yes, I suppose it is — now ! ” said he, 
drily. 

Mrs. Laffan drew nearer to Oswin, divided 
between vexation and a wish to laugh. 

“ Now really, Oswin, I’m very angry with 
you,” said she. 

“ But you’ll give me a better bedroom?” 
said he, drily. 

“ Well, I shall have to, I suppose, if you 
insist,” said she, with a comical expression. 
“ But it’s too bad of you to come here under 
false colors. I wanted you to be nice to every- 
body, and now — ” 

“ And now, instead of that, everybody’s go- 
ing to be nice to me,” said Oswin, in the same 
tone as before. “Well, you know, it comes to 
the same thing.” 

“And now, of course, you’ll be wanting a 
wife,” said Mrs. Laffan. “ You were always 
so anxious to marry.” 

He shrugged his shoulders. 

“Ah, that was when I couldn’t afford to. 
Now I feel I can wait a little.” 


32 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

“ V/ell, I hope you won’t persuade Martin to 
wait a little too,” said Mrs. Laffan, rather 
tartly. 

“ He won’t want any persuasion.” 

“ Oh, you are incorrigible ! ” said Mrs. Latfan, 
impatiently. 

And she turned away with unmistakable an- 
noyance on her face. This defection of Oswin 
Smith’s was the worst blow of all. She had 
looked upon him as a harmless, obliging creat- 
ure, whose liking for Martin would induce him 
to add his own inclination towards matrimony 
to her arguments in favor of that state. Now 
he had not only blossomed into a person who 
intended to be considered, but had developed 
notions which chimed in only too well with 
Martin’s own fondness for the bachelor state. 
It seemed now that nothing was wanting that 
could help to make this visit to Martin’s home 
a complete fiasco. And it is no wonder the 
poor lady turned away, asking herself what 
excuse she could find for breaking up this ill- 
assorted party. 

Beckingham Laffan, that grim old spoil- 
sport, chuckled delightedly to himself as he 
followed his sister-in-law with his malicious 
old eyes. 


CHAPTER III. 


A CHALLENGE. 

Now the observer who might have pro- 
nounced Oswin Smith, on the strength of his 
behavior to the ladies at Abbey Mallow, an 
intolerable person, undeserving of anything but 
contempt, would have been wrong. At least 
he would have been wrong in pronouncing 
such a judgment without a qualifying reserva- 
tion. 

It is undoubtedly true that Oswin gave him- 
self airs on that occasion, true that his conduct 
and his conversation were in the worst possi- 
ble taste, and that Mrs. Laffan was right in tell- 
ing him that he ought not to have come among 
them under false pretenses. 

But there were excuses to be made for him, 
extenuating circumstances to stand between 
him and anything like wholesale condemna- 
tion. 

There may indeed be young men of eight- 
and-twenty so well-balanced, so calm and cool 
of judgment, that a rise in life from the posi- 
tion of an agreeable makeweight to that of a 
3 33 


34 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

person of social position and consideration 
would leave their heads unturned. But Oswin 
Smith was not one of these. For years now 
he had held an assured though scarcely an en- 
viable position in London society, by reason 
of his tact, his cleverness in saying the right 
thing, and his never-failing readiness to oblige. 

Many a bore had he taken down to dinner ; 
many a dance had he given to the girls who 
could get no other partners ; many a country 
house bed had he slept on, which, apologeti- 
cally described by the host or hostess as a 
“shake-down,” had in the middle of the night 
justified its portentous name. 

But though he had borne all the discomforts 
and inconveniences of his position as a poor 
man without an audible murmur, the iron had 
eaten into the clever young fellow’s soul none 
the less. He felt that he hated these maneu- 
vering mothers who were so careful that their 
pretty daughters should bestow upon him very 
little of their precious civility. He hated the 
hostesses who made use of him when men who 
danced, or talked well, were scarce, and who 
were barely gracious to him at other times. 
He hated the girls who talked and laughed 
with him, with an eye upon some richer man 
the while. He hated, above all, those richer 
men themselves, so secure in their possession 
of that comfortable balance at the banker’s that 


35 


A Challenge. 

they could safely indulge their whims, and be 
insolent or condescending as it pleased them. 

When, as by a wave of a magician’s wand, 
all these things were changed, and the money 
of his penurious and despised uncle placed 
him suddenly in the position of the men he 
had envied, it is perhaps scarcely to be won- 
dered at that the rush of good fortune was too 
much for him, that the amiable and obliging 
man who had been snubbed in the days of his 
poverty, became for the time, at least, more 
arrogant than those who had been arrogant to 
him. 

Short as his experience of wealth had yet 
been, he had already found how great the 
change in his position was, and how infinitely 
more sought after he was now that he had be- 
come well off and uncivil, than he had been in 
the days when he had an empty purse and the 
reputation of an amiable nature. 

Ethel Cray, this not very young girl, with 
the sallow face, the colorless eyes and the in- 
definite hued hair, was the first person who 
had dared to resent his new discourtesy ; and 
Oswin, while confidently ascribing her treat- 
ment of him to her ignorance of his present 
position, was indignant with her for not join- 
ing in the general homage which he was now 
enjoying. 

It was quite true that none of the ladies had 


36 The Plain Miss Cray. 

shown him great cordiality on his arrival ; even 
Mrs. Laffan had felt only a languid interest in 
the good-natured young man who could be 
stowed away in any draughty corner. But 
they had all presently made amends, in smiles 
and a great show of interest in his change of 
fortune ; and Ethel alone had held scornfully 
aloof, regarding him from time to time, even 
while he talked, with a certain irritating air of 
holding him at his true worth — and that a low 
one. 

As Mrs. Laffan turned away from Oswin, to 
hide her discomfiture at the change in his 
views concerning matrimony, Mrs. Jesmond- 
Cray, who had shown considerable subdued 
excitement since she learnt of the young stock- 
broker’s transformation, came across the ter- 
race, from where she had been conversing with 
Beckingham Laffan. 

“ Oh, Mr. Laffan has been telling us about 
the lovely Vandykes there are in the picture- 
gallery ! Do take us to see them,” she said, 
addressing her hostess, but with an eye upon 
Oswin all the time. “ I simply dote upon 
pictures, and so does Ethel.” 

“ Beckingham wants to satisfy himself that 
they haven’t been made away with, I sup- 
pose ! ” said Mrs. Laffan, in a low voice, with 
a little sub-acid smile. “ Well, come and see 
them.” 


37 


A Challenge. 

And she went towards the door of the house, 
followed by Mrs. Cray, who managed on her 
way to seize her elder daughter and to push 
her forward with an affectation of playful heed- 
lessness which deceived nobody. 

Old Beckingham, whose small, sharp eyes 
saw everything, saw this and went grunting 
along in the rear. 

It was not until she had reached the door, 
and was about to enter, that Mrs. Cray ap- 
peared to remember her younger daughter. 
Then, turning slightly, without seeming to 
remark that Gladys and Oswin Smith were 
now close together by the balustrade, she 
cried, “ Aren’t you coming, Gladys ? ” 

Before the girl had time to answer, how- 
ever, her mother shrugged her shoulders and 
added to Mrs. Laffan, “ Oh, well, she never 
was fond of pictures, and I daresay the fresh 
air will do her more good. Aren’t you coming, 
Mr. Smith ? ” she ended, smiling amiably at 
the reformed Oswin. 

“ No,” answered he, from the terrace, as he 
half seated himself upon the broken balustrade. 
“ I think the fresh air will do me more good 
too.” 

But there was one participator in this little 
scene, who not only understood its purport, 
but had the courage to protest. This was 
Ethel, who detached her mother from the rest 


38 The Plain Miss Cray. 

of the group by a neat movement of the wrist, 
and spoke a few earnest, anxious words low in 
her ear. 

“ Mother, don’t leave Gladys with that man. 
He doesn’t want to marry ; he will only amuse 
himself by trying to make her fond of him.” 

Mrs. Cray answered petulantly, — 

“ Well, isn’t that what a rich man always 
does ? There’s always the hope that he may 
get caught himself. She must take her chance. 
Come along ; Mrs. Laffan will wonder what 
we’re waiting here for.” 

So the reluctant Ethel, Mter casting back 
one more anxious glance at her pretty sister, 
reluctantly accompanied her mother into the 
house, and joined Beckingham and Mrs. Laffan, 
who were exchanging conjectures as to why 
the ladies who were “ so fond of pictures ” had 
so suddenly lost their interest in Art. 

Pretty Gladys, on the terrace, had opened 
her sunshade, and was strolling in the direc- 
tion of the steps. Oswin got off the balustrade, 
and followed her down. 

“So they’ve left me to amuse you. Miss 
Gladys. It’s very rough on you ! ” 

“ Mrs. Laffan says you are so amusing.” 

“ But I've let myself get out of practise lately.” 

Gladys was by this time at the bottom of the 
steps, strolling over the ill-kept lawn. 

“ Tell me about Mr. Martin Laffan,” said 


39 


A Challenge, 

she, “ and the murder that brought him over 
here. I’m dying to know all about it, and 
Mrs. Laffan won't let it be mentioned.” 

“ It makes the old lady nervous,” said Oswin. 
“ She argues that since her son’s agent was 
shot her son himself may be shot too.” 

Gladys shuddered. 

“Oh, of course. How horrid ! ” 

“ No— how absurd ! For dear old Martin’s 
a landlord after their own heart, who never 
expects any rent, and who disarms the black- 
guards by making friends of them.” 

“ Friends ? ” cried Gladys, in surprise. 

“Yes, Do you see that ragged rascal in the 
potato-field, who keeps peeping through the 
hedge at us ?” 

“Yes. I don’t like the look of him at all. 
He kept peering at us in a most horrid, stealthy 
way while we were at tea. He looks like a 
murderer himself, I think.” 

Oswin laughed. 

“Well, Martin’s made him gamekeeper, and 
gardener, and lodge-keeper, and — and pal. 
And the fellow’s thick with all the moon- 
lighters in the country. They call him the 
Scamp. He’s the person who can tell you all 
about the murder.” He took a step forward, 
and called, “ Here, Luke ! ” 

But Gladys drew back, a trifle paler than 
before. 


40 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

“ Oh, don’t call him,” she whispered. “ He 
frightens me. If he speaks to me, after what 
5mu’ve told me, I know I shall scream.” 

But before she had finished speaking, the 
5mung laborer, lurching slowly forward in an- 
swer to the gentleman’s summons, had broken 
his way without ceremony through the hedge 
on the right of the lawn, and presented him- 
self before them. 

Now, Gladys had done him less than justice. 
On closer inspection, black-browed Luke 
looked less of a cut-throat than he had done 
in the distance, though it may be there was 
something in his dark, handsome face which 
hardly promised the straighforwardness of an 
altogether guileless nature. But in his intel- 
ligent black eyes there was something doglike, 
sympathetic, attractive ; while about his mouth 
there were lines and curves indicative of the 
precious gift of humor. And as he spoke, his 
voice was an oddly musical one to belong to 
so uncouth a creature. 

“ Sor-r ? ” was the single word he uttered, as 
he cast up a glance of half-smiling recognition 
at the gentleman, and pulled of his battered hat 
respectfully. 

“ How are you, Luke? You rememberme, 
don’t you ?” said Oswin. 

“ Shure an’ I do, sor-r,” said Luke, as his 
smile developed into a grin. 


A Challenge. 4f 

“ You don’t forget your friends, eh, Luke ?" 

“ No, nor me enemies neither, sor-r,” retorted 
Luke, sturdily. 

Oswin affected surprise. 

“Enemies ! I thought you were good friends 
with everybody, Luke ? All the bad characters 
in the country, and all the good ones too ! ’’ 

The smile, which ‘had faded out of Luke’s 
dark face, began to appear there again. 

“ So I am, sor-r, barrin’ a few. I’m not 
friends with John Murphy, who told my master 
I was a lyin’ rogue ; and over his mobile features 
there came a dark look, which grew darker 
as he went on; “and I’m not friends with 
Derrick O’Hara, who stole my brother’s roan 
mare.’’ 

The mention of the name threw Oswin in- 
stantly into a state of excitement. He glanced 
at Gladys with meaning, as he said, — 

“ Derrick O’Hara ! That was the man who 
shot Mr. Laffan’s agent, wasn’t it ? ” 

“Oh ?’’ cried Gladys, with a little plaintive 
shriek. 

Luke turned his black eyes slyly in her 
direction, and then looked dehantly and with a 
scowl at Oswin. 

“Yes, sor-r, it was him that did it.’’ 

“ Well,’’ said Oswin, “we don’t expect you to 
be friends with a murderer.’’ 

Again he gave a glance at Gladys as Luke, 


42 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

quite roused out of all appearance of apathy, 
answered with passion, and in a louder voice 
than before, — 

“ Murtherer, is it ? Shure I wouldn’t be 
afther callin’ a man a murtherer for putting a 
bullet into a sneaking scoundrel like the 
captain! ” 

Gladys took a couple of steps into the back- 
ground, to put Oswin between herself and the 
speaker. 

“ What ! ” cried Oswin, “ from behind a 
hedge ? ” 

Luke raised his head and spoke with con- 
viction. 

“ Shure, an’ what difference does a hedge 
make ? If a soldier can shoot from an ambush 
at a poor fellow that’s never done him any 
harm, why shouldn’t a man that’s not a soldier 
shoot at a rascal where he can ? ” 

“Then you sympathize with this O’Hara ?’’ 
asked Oswin, in mock astonishment. 

“ No. He’s a villain,’’ retorted Luke, stoutly, 
shaking his fist in the air, “ a palthry spalpeen ! 
He took my brother’s roan mare out of the 
stable, the night he’d shot the captain, and 
he rode away on her, without so much as a 
with your leave or by your leave, an’ without 
leaving a stiver to pay for her. Ah, the dirty 
villain ! ’’ 

And Luke, in a state of passionate excite- 


A Challenge. 43 

ment, began to mutter threats and curses on 
the absent-minded Derrick. 

Gladys was so much alarmed by Luke’s 
ferocious looks and gestures that by this time 
she had edged away from the two men alto- 
gether and, trying to look as if she did not 
hear, had reached the steps of the terrace. 
Oswin glanced behind him. 

“ Perhaps he was only forgetful, Luke,” sug- 
gested he. “ Probably he intended to pay for 
the mare; but in the hurry of a forced de- 
parture he forgot it.” 

Luke uttered an incredulous snort. 

“ Shure, then, it’s but a dirthy memory that’ll 
fail to keep in mind them that helped ye to 
save yer neck, either with their knowledge or 
without it ! ” said he, by no means mollified, “ and 
if ever the chance comes, by the saints, but 
I’ll wipe off the score against him ! ” 

“ Luke, your morality is altogether too prim- 
itive for the nineteenth century,” said Oswin, 
laughing. “And you’ve frightened that young 
lady, nearly out of her wits. Go back to your 
potatoes; I’ll argue you into a better code of 
morals another time.” 

Luke’s face relapsed once more into a good- 
humored grin. 

■“ Shure, sor-r, it’s welcome ye are to thry,'' 
said he, as he touched his old hat again, and 
returned to his work. 


44 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

Oswin walked quickly across the lawn to 
Gladys, and reached the bottom of the steps 
when she was half way up. 

“ Don’t go,” entreated he. “ It will take them 
an hour to find out what the Vandykes are all 
about. And there’s so much more interest 
in” — he looked round vaguely — “ oh, in po- 
tatoes ? ” 

Gladys turned slowly round, and stood on 
the old stone steps, making the prettiest pic- 
ture in the world in her dress of cream-col- 
ored muslin, with the pale blue rosettes near 
her neck and in her big picture hat. 

“But that man frightens me,” said she, in a 
subdued voice. “ Such a fierce look came 
into his eyes when he was speaking ! I don’t 
think he would think twice about shooting 
anybody himself.” 

Oswin looked up at her and smiled. She 
certainly did look sweetly pretty, with her baby 
face and soft fair hair. 

“You don’t think I’d let him shooi you f” 
said he, with mock solemnity. 

“ I don’t know. I’m sure,” said Gladys, in the 
little lisping tones of ballroom coquetry. “ I 
don’t suppose you’d mind ! ” 

Oswin made a frantic gesture. 

“ Not mind ! Not mind ! ” cried he, affect- 
ing to tear his hair. “ Why, I shiver at the very 
thought ! Mind, I can conceive the possibility 


A Challenge. 45 

of my shooting you myself, if you made me 
desperate, but not of my allowing anybody else 
to do so.” 

Gladys giggled delightedly, like a child. 

“Now, I should really like to make you des- 
perate,” began she, putting her pretty head on 
one side with a little gesture which made her 
quite bewitching. 

She had her back to the house, and Oswin, 
who was still on the lower level of the lawn, 
had come up close under the balustrade, under 
a thick bush of ivy which was helping the ruin 
of the stonework. Quite unseen by either of 
them, Ethel, who had left her mother with the 
others at the first opportunity, was able to 
come noiselessly along the terrace, and to lay 
her hand, from behind, upon Gladys’s arm, 
with so much suddenness that both she and 
Oswin were startled. 

“ Then try the effect of running away, dear ? ” 
said Ethel, in her low-voiced, incisive tones. 
“ Mrs. Laffan wants to show you a dress that 
was worn at the coronation of Charles the 
Second.” 

“ Oh, but I don’t want to see it,” said Gladys, 
rather pettishly, trying to escape from the in- 
sistent hand. 

“ Since it’s lasted so long it will keep a little 
longer, won’t it ? ” put in Oswin, in dry tones 
of annoyance. 


46 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

“ Well, Mrs. Laffan wants herto see it now,” 
persisted Ethel. 

And as she spoke, still keeping her hand on 
her sister’s arm, she looked into her face, and 
frowned slightly to intimate that she must go. 

Gladys shrugged her pretty shoulders and 
pouted. 

“ Oh, of course. I’m always obliged to do 
what I don’t want to ! ” said she, rebelliously. 

But still her elder sister looked at her, still 
she kept upon her that restraining, imperious 
hand ; and finally Gladys, after exchanging a 
glance with Oswin, who tried to look sym- 
pathetic, but succeeded only in looking angry, 
she snatched her arm away from Ethel’s fingers, 
and walked, with undisguised reluctance and 
ill-humor, into the house. 

There was a very curious pause, and the 
two people left in the garden assumed each 
an attitude of unmistakable defiance. Ethel 
seemed for abo_.]: half a moment undecided 
whether to follow her sister or to remain and 
do battle with the enemy. A look, a gesture, 
both of which would have been insignificant to 
eyes less keen than hers, decided her to stay. 

Oswin spoke first. 

“You don’t allow your sister much liberty 
of action, I see,” said he, throwing down the 
gauntlet. 

“ I don’t do more than use an elder sister’s 


A Challenge. 47 

privilege,” returned Ethel, steadily, without 
looking at him. 

Osvvin’s tone became more bland, more 
subtly insolent, as he answered, — 

“ Oh, certainly. If it is the admitted priv- 
ilege of the elder to interfere with the enjoy- 
ment of the younger.” 

“ Enjoyment ! ” echoed Ethel, in a dry tone. 

“ She didn’t want to go in ! ” said Oswin, 
betraying the fact that her words nettled him. 
“And Mrs. Cray had no objections to her 
staying out here.” 

Ethel slightly raised her eyebrows. She did 
not look up. 

“Mama! No, but /had I” 

“ The privileges of an elder sister seem to 
be extraordinarily great 1 ” 

“ And the duties too— sometimes.” 

Oswin, now thoroughly nettled, looked 
straight into her face. Still, she did not choose 
to meet his eyes, and he could not flatter him- 
self that it was fear, or diffidence, or anything 
but disdain, which kept her eyelids down. 

“ It was your duty not to allow your sister 
to remain in my society ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And is it one of your privileges — or duties, 
to explain j'^our action ? ” 

“ If I do, I shall have to be very frank.” 

“ I like frankness,” said Oswin, curtly. 


48 The Plain Miss Cray. 

Ethel’s voice was very suave, her tone very 
decided, as she flatly contradicted him. 

“Oh, no, you don’t. Not such frankness as 
mine. For I shall have to begin by telling you 
that my action is based upon my contempt 
for you.” 

“ Miss Cray ! ” cried Oswin, indignantly. 

But she went on, with superb indifference 
to his outburst. 

“Oh, not as an individual; in that sense I 
scarcely know you. But as a type ; and that 
type I know very well.” 

She paused a moment, and Oswin, evidently 
cut to the quick, overflowing with anger, mor- 
tification and amazement, cut in, in what he 
meant to be a very sarcastic tone, — 

“Your penetration — and experience— must 
be remarkable ! ” 

Ethel only asked drily, — 

“ Am I to go on ? ” 

“ Pray do. Character from the handwriting 
is nothing to this,” said Oswin, choking with 
rage. 

And Ethel went on, still standing like a 
statue, in the middle of the stone steps, with 
her hands clasped, looking quietly out before 
her, and speaking as coolly as if she had been 
delivering a lecture on the habits of caterpil- 
lars. 

“ There is a type of man that builds a shrine, 


A Challenge. 49 

and puts on it — himself. That worships assidu- 
ously, intelligently, and adapts his sacrifices to 
the needs of the moment. When fortune 
frowns, the worshiper is ready to offer up his 
own convenience, his own pleasure, for the ul- 
timate advantage of his idol — self. When 
fortune smiles, he wheels his Juggernaut over 
friends and foes, sacrifices openly instead of 
secretly, and makes sport of his silly vic- 
tims.’ 

She stopped dead, and still looked out 
quietly in front of her at the potato-field. 

“ And is this eloquent description supposed 
to apply to me. Miss Cray?” asked Oswin, 
who had had time to recover at least an ap- 
pearance of equanimity. 

“Yes.” 

“ I can’t help feeling immensely flattered,” 
said he. “ I had no idea I had so much in me. 
But, please, who are my silly victims ? ” 

“ All those persons who put up with your 
arrogance and insolence, now you are rich 
while they only took you on sufferance when 
you were poor.” 

In spite of the guard he had put upon him- 
self, Oswin winced at these words. She 
went on remorselessly, in the same level 
tone, — 

“ The women who are civil to you in the 
hope that you will marry one of their daugh- 
4 


50 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

ters, and the girls you flirt with laugh at you, 
but never intend to marry.” 

“ And how do you know what I intend, Miss 
Cray, long before I know myself ? ” 

At that question it seemed as if, in some 
strange way, he had turned the tables upon his 
accuser. At any rate, Ethel’s face became in 
a moment slightly puckered, and her sallow 
cheeks grew pink. She hesitated a little, then 
smiled, shrugged her shoulders, and coming 
down two steps, sat upon the low, squat pillar 
which ended the balustrade on the side of the 
steps furthest from him. 

“Well, you may know if you like,” she said 
at last, indifferently. “ It is from a personal 
experience. In those far-off days,” she went 
on, with a slight emphasis, which he under- 
stood to be a reproach, “ before I had penetra- 
tion and experience, a man of your sort taught 
me to love him.” 

She paused again for a moment. Oswin 
remained quite silent, being indeed utterly 
surprised and somewhat nonplussed by the 
unexpectedness of the nature of her confession. 
Ethel laughed a little and went on. 

“Yes, it seems an odd thing for such a 
dry-as-dust creature as I to have done ; but 
you must remember it was a long time ago. 
Well, I broke my heart over him, and have 
had to do without one ever since. But I don’t 


A Challenge. 51 

mean to let my pretty little sister break hers in 
the same way. So there, Mr. Smith.” And 
as she spoke she rose, and for the first time 
looked him straight in the eyes. “ You have 
the gauntlet flung in your face. You must 
leave Gladys alone:” 

Afer an instant’s silence Oswin spoke, with 
his eyes down this time. 

“ May I ask whether Mrs. Jesmond-Cray is 
acquainted with the circumstance of 3^our very 
singular challenge ? ” 

Ethel laughed drily. 

“Of course not. My mother is the most 
guileless and transparent of match-makers, as 
you have probably remarked. And her trou- 
bles having been chiefly those of the cash-box, 
she is not inclined to sympathize with those of 
the heart.” 

“You admit that she is a match-maker ? a 
husband-hunter ? Then you ought to admit 
the right of the hunted to use any weapon he 
finds to hand ? ” 

“ I don’t admit any such right,” retorted 
Ethel, with spirit. “ What does such a woman 
do but try to find a haven of happiness for the 
child she has cherished ? with a man who will 
cherish her when she herself is gone ?” 

“Might one suggest that it is less with the 
man than with his money that she concerns 
herself ? ” 


52 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

“ Because money can be depended upon to 
fulfil its promises, while a man cannot,” re- 
torted Ethel. 

It was Oswin’s turn to laugh a little. 

“ And do you propose to harangue Martin 
Laffan in this manner, if he speaks to your 
sister ? ” 

“ Oh, no,” said Ethel, simply. “ From what 
I hear. I’m sure Mr. Laffan is an honorable 
gentleman.” 

Oswin started, and unwisely spoke out the 
question that came to his lips. 

“ And pray, what am I ? ” 

The answer came, prompt and decided, in 
the same level tone as ever. 

“ An insufferable cad.” 

And without waiting for any comment or 
protest, with only one swift, sharp, cutting look 
out of her light gray eyes, she turned, and ran 
rapidly up the steps and across the terrace into 
the house. 

Oswin started from the corner, where he had 
been lounging against the ivy, as if an adder 
had sprung at and bitten him. He was white 
to the lips as he glared at her retreating 
figure. 

“ Well, of all the confounded — ” He paused, 
and a frown that was half angry, half puzzled, 
contorted his face. He muttered to himself, 
after a moment’s pause, in a different tone, 


53 


A Challenge. 

“ Confound the woman ! Whether she’s right or 
wrong, and I’m not sure what I think about 
that, confound her, I say! confound her! ” 

And there could be no possible doubt as to 
the sincerity of the sentiment he uttered. 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE wanderer’s RETURN. 

OswiN was moving slowly around the balus- 
trade to get to the steps, when his attention 
was suddenly diverted by Luke, who uttering 
a wild cry of “ Hurroo! hurroo! ” began to wave 
his ragged hat in a frantic manner in the direc- 
tion of the road, which he commanded from 
where he stood, although it was not in sight 
of Oswin. 

“ What’s the matter ? What the devil are 
you making all that row about ? ” cried the 
young man sulkily, as he began to cross the 
lawn in the direction of the potato-field to find 
out the cause of the excitement. 

But Luke either did not hear, or did not 
condescend to answer him, for instead of pay- 
ing any heed to his questions, the Scamp 
rushed between the yew hedges towards the 
west wing of the house, still crying, in his 
deep, musical voice, as he waved his cap to- 
wards the windows, “ Hurroo ! hurroo ! ” 

He made such a noise that the ladies began 
to gather at the lower windows, and Becking- 
54 


The Wanderer’s Return. 55 

ham and Gladys came out upon the terrace, 
while Mrs. Laffan called out from the drawing- 
room, — 

“ What’s the matter, Luke ? Have you 
gone mad ? What’s the matter?” 

The Scamp stopped short with his face 
aglow. 

“ Mad is it ? Shure, then, I think I have ! 
For haven’t I seen the masther himself cornin’ 
along in Murphy’s car, down by the church 
beyant there ? ” 

“ My son ! Are you sure ?” 

Beckingham uttered an exclamation of dis- 
gust. 

“ Well, if you have seen him, that’s no 
reason why you should shout as if the place 
was on fire ! ” 

“No reason why I should shout ! ” retorted 
the Scamp, robustly. “ Arrah, but there is 
reason, and good reason too ! Shure he’s got 
a lady with him ! A young lady! ” 

At these words a thrill of excitement ran 
through the group. In the case of Becking- 
ham, Laffan and Mrs. Jesmond-Cray, it was 
more than excitement, it was consternation. 
Mrs. Laffan was the first to recover from the 
general amazement. 

“A lady! Oh, you must be mistaken, 
Luke ! ” 

“ Is it mistaken I am ? Shure, an’ he’ll be 


56 The Plain Miss Cray. 

at the front door by this time, an’ you can see 
for yourself.” 

Mrs. Laffan turned hurriedly to Mrs. Cray, 
upon whose face a frown of exceeding prim- 
ness was gathering. 

“It’s some mistake of the silly fellow’s,” 
murmured Mrs. Laffan in her ear. “ I’ll go 
and see for myself.” 

But though she tried to reassure herself and 
her friends at the same time, it was with an 
anxious expression on her face that she went 
indoors. 

Oswin had been standing a little way from 
the rest, but he had heard all that passed, and 
he chuckled maliciously as he leaned over the 
balustrade, and looked down into the garden. 

“ Thank heaven ! ” murmured he, mali- 
ciously, to himself. “ There’s a slap in the face 
for that beastly girl ! ” 

Meanwhile, poor Mrs. Cray, ghastly under 
her well-made-up complexion, muttered a few 
words in a hoarse voice to her elder daugh- 
ter, — 

“ Ethel, this is awful. We ought not to 
have been invited. We’ve been brought here 
under false pretenses.” 

“ Hush, mother ! ” whispered Ethel, reassur- 
ingly, caressing first her mother and then 
Gladys, who had instinctively drawn near to 
her as if for protection, “ it will be all right. 


The Wanderer’s Return. 57 

Mrs. Laffan will see that it’s all right. Come 
into the garden.” 

And she led them both down the steps. 

Wicked old Beckingham Laffan hobbled 
across to Oswin, and chuckled maliciously. 

“ It’s some little dairymaid he’s picked up, 
forgetting all about his mother’s coming. 
She’ll drive off the whole covey, that’s one 
comfort,” he added with grim satisfaction. 

But Oswin did not share in his glee. 

“ I can’t understand it. It isn’t like Martin. 
I thirst for explanations.” 

Beckingham looked round and nodded. 

“ Well, you’ll get ’em. He’s coming out, 
and ” — his tone suddenly became full of con- 
sternation — “ by Jove, the lady with him ! ” 

Oswin wheeled round sharply. 

Yes, there, already out on the terrace, was 
Martin Laffan, bronzed and ruddy of face, 
broad-shouldered, manly, as of old, moving 
rapidly forward, with a pale, dark-eyed, dark- 
haired, fragile-looking girl on his arm. She 
was very simply dressed, but looked refined 
and moved gracefully, though it was evident 
that she was overwhelmed by a timidity which 
was like fear. Mrs. Laffan stood behind them 
in the doorway, staring alternately at her son 
and his companion with a white, scared face. 

But Martin was dashing across the terrace 
and down the steps, and the lady with him. 


58 The Plain Miss Cray. 

Seizing the hand of Mrs. Cray, whom he met 
at the bottom, he shook it heartily, smiling 
broadly into her frightened face. 

“ Don’t want an introduction, Mrs. Cray,” 
cried he, in a hearty, deep-toned voice, which 
rang out manly and true. “ I’m delighted to 
see you, and your daughters too ; my mother’s 
friends are as welcome as she is herself.” Be- 
fore she could gather her wits to reply, before 
she knew whether she should smile or not, he 
had turned from her to her daughters and 
shaken hands heartily with both of them. 
“ How are you ? Well and happy. I’m sure, 
as all young girls should be. Let me introduce 
you all to — my wife ! ” 

Mrs. Jesmond-Cray murmured some polite 
commonplace ; but underneath her civility, 
amazement, indignation and incredulity seemed 
to struggle for the upper hand. 


A Cold Reception. 


59 


CHAPTER V. 

A COLD RECEPTION. 

Surely never was bride so coldly received 
as was Martin Laffan’s upon this, her first ap- 
pearance at her husband’s home. 

It had not needed the looks of consterna- 
tion on the faces of the old servants, the 
scarcely civil greeting of Martin’s mother, the 
unwelcome stare with which Mrs. Jesmond- 
Cray regarded her, to tell the new-comer that 
her arrival was unexpected, and that it gave a 
shock of displeasure and surprise to high and 
low. 

Mrs. Jesmond-Cray was of course the worst 
of all the cold crowd. Finding her voice with 
apparent difficulty, and dropping her eyelids 
as she raised her chin a little, she drawled out 
a few commonplace words in a tone of per- 
functory civility which enraged her host. 

“ Delighted, I’m sure. But — really — such an 
unexpected pleasure — ” And at this point, 
with the tips of her fingers she touched those 
of the trembling bride. Martin frowned, and 
stared at the mother of two marriageable 


6o 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

daughters, without the slightest suspicion of 
the fact that Mrs. Jcsmond-Cray considered 
that he had tricked her most cruelly. 

After the chilly touch the lady went on in an 
aggrieved tone, and without so much as an- 
other glance at Monica. 

“We had really no idea, you know — quite 
sprung upon us, in fact.” And she turned ab- 
ruptly to her elder daughter, who had come 
quietly up to within a few paces of the group. 
“ Wasn’t it, Ethel ? ” 

Ethel’s voice, however, as she answered at 
once, had in it a tone of warmth and kindli- 
ness in strong contrast with the dry voice in 
which she had addressed her bitter speeches to 
Oswin Smith. Coming quickly forward on 
this invitation from her mother, she took 
Monica’s shrinking hand in a warm clasp, and 
holding the quivering, slender fingers for a 
few moments in the grasp of both her own 
hands, she smiled into the bride’s face, and 
said, — 

“ I think it is we who have been sprung upon 
you. You didn’t expect to fine a houseful of 
people here. I’m sure. I suppose, Mr. Laffan,” 
she went on, not releasing Monica’s fingers, 
but turning to Martin with a delightful air of 
demure sauciness, which was as great a con- 
trast to her tone with his wife, as it was with 
her tone to Oswfin, “ in the excitement and 


A Cold Reception. 6i 

novelty of getting married, you forgot all about 
us.” 

Martin Laffan’s bronzed face grew deeper in 
tint, and with a comical air of genuine con- 
trition and self-abasement, he confessed him- 
self. 

“ I did. Miss Cray, and there’s the truth of 
it ! ” said he, hoarse with shame at his own mis- 
deeds. 

Ethel laughed pleasantly, and looked with a 
merry glance into Monica’s frightened eyes. 
Oswin Smith, who had drawn near from a sort 
of loyalty to Martin, shook his head at him. 

“ But you shouldn’t own to it ! ” said he. 

Under the influence of Ethel’s kindliness 
and of Oswin’s good humor, Monica was just 
beginning to get over her first misery and 
nervousness, when Mrs. Jesmond-Cray’s grat- 
ing voice disturbed them all. Seizing the 
helpless Gladys, who had stood in the back- 
ground, uttering never a word, she marched 
rather than walked towards the terrace steps, 
saying, as she went, in a greatly offended tone, 
and with a withering glance at Martin, — 

“ The mistake is very easily rectified, Mr. 
Martin. Of course, we none of us wish to ob- 
trude upon you.” 

“ Oh, Mr. Laffan ! ” 

The cry came in a despairing, timid voice 
from the lips of Monica. She had shrunk back, 


62 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

stung by the looks, the words of the dis- 
appointed match-maker, and looked as if she 
would fain have run away. 

It caught the ears of Mrs. Laffan, Martin’s 
mother, who had been captured by Becking- 
ham, and was deep in low- voiced conversation 
with the angry old man on the terrace. She 
turned a little paler at the sound, and looked 
down in despair upon the scene beneath. 
Monica looked the picture of misery, Martin 
was boiling with vexation and disgust, Gladys 
looked frightened, Mrs. Cray vindictive, and 
even Oswin disturbed. 

Only Ethel, serene, smiling, consoling, kept 
her hand on one of Monica’s, and tried, with 
gentle commonplaces, to distract her attention 
from the disturbing elements of the scene. 

Martin, after a moment’s pause for breath, 
stumped after Mrs. Cray in a rage. 

“ No, no, don’t go. One moment, Mrs. Cray, 
I have something to say to you ! ” 

But luckily, perhaps, Oswin got in the way, 
and dela3"ed his progress by buttonholing him 
at the bottom of the steps, and gently intimat- 
ing that Martin had not the right to all the 
anger. 

“ It’s an unconventional way of receiving 
a party of friends, you know,” he submitted 
mildly, “ to forget all about their coming, to be 
away when they arrive, to let them find no 


A Cold Reception. 63 

preparations made for their reception, and 
finally to turn up with a wife, of whose exist- 
ence nobody was aware, and with a sort of 
feeling, as it seems to me,that you yourself are 
the aggrieved party, after all.” 

By this time Mrs. Jesmond-Cray and Gladys 
had disappeared into the house, old Mrs. 
Laffan and Beckingham had prudently re- 
treated into the shadow of the yew trees which 
grew round the east end of the terrace, and 
there was no one in sight whose presence 
could serve to inflame Martin’s anger. 

He began to understand that the fault did 
not lie all on the one side, and proceeded to 
bite the ends of his long, straggling mustache, 
with a look of something like contrition in his 
gray eyes. 

“ Oswin, what shall I do?” said he, at last. 
“ What shall I do ? You go and talk the old 
lady over. I can’t do it myself. I can’t for- 
give her for being so unkind to Monica. But 
— but— I’m off my head, I think. I wouldn’t 
have committed such a breach of hospitality 
for worlds as to drive people away when my 
mother had invited them here — and with a sort 
of permission from me, too.” 

“ Of course you wouldn’t,” said Oswin, re- 
assuringly. “ So now you’ve got to make 
apologies. Yours was the first fault, you know. 
You must go after Mrs. Cray — ” 


64 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

But at that suggestion Martin drew back and 
shook his head. 

“ No, no, you go. You go and talk her 
over. Persuade her to stay. You can, you 
know. You’re such an oily chap.” 

Oswin Smith turned on his heel and looked 
rather foolish. 

“ Not now,” said he, at last, gloomily ; “ not 
now ! I’m a vinegary chap now. I shall only 
make matters worse. I’m afraid. You’ve got 
a thing or two to learn about me. However,” 
he added quickly, as his old friend stared, 
“ never mind about that now. I’ll go, of course 
I’ll go.”. 

And with no alacrity whatever, but with the 
air of one doing a solemn and irksome duty, 
Oswin left his friend on the steps, and went 
slowly up towards the house. 

Martin Laffan stood for a few moments un- 
decided on the steps, not quite sure in which 
direction to turn. On the terrace above him, 
he could now just perceive the figures of his 
mother and old Beckingham, of whose pres- 
ence at Abbey Mallow he had been unaware 
until that moment. The sight of the wrinkled, 
bent, malevolent man seemed to him ominous 
of evil. Beckingham did indeed carefully 
keep himself informed of what went on upon 
the estate of which he had insane hopes of 
some day being master, in the case of Martin’s 


A Cold Reception. 65 

dying before him unmarried ; but his visits 
were few and far between, and were not hailed 
by his nephew with joy. 

Beckingham saw Oswin Smith leave Martin 
and, with a nod to Mrs. Laffan, he hurried 
along the terrace to catch him before he entered 
the house. The old lady followed him, and 
the three stood for a moment under the untidy 
creeper which hung in festoons over the door- 
way. 

“ What — what — what does Martin say ? ” 
asked Beckingham, seizing Oswin by the coat- 
sleeve, and looking anxiously into his face. 
“ That she’s his wife, really his wife ? But of 
course it isn’t true. You don’t think it’s true, 
do you ? ” 

Oswin, a good deal disgusted, disengaged 
himself. 

“ He says so, and he ought to know,” he 
remarked drily, as he w^ent into the house. 

Beckingham, turning, found old Mrs. Laffan 
close behind. She was looking highly dis- 
pleased. 

“ Really, Beckingham, you ought to be 
ashamed of asking such questions ! ” said she, 
tartly. 

Beckingham had his answer ready. 

“ And you,” said he, with a cross-grained 
look, “ ought to be ashamed of asking none ! ” 

Mrs. Laffan drew herself up. 

5 


66 


The Plain Miss Gray. 

“ You exceed the limits allowed by relation- 
ship,” said she, with dignity. “ I know my 
son too well to suppose him capable of any 
conduct but the best.” 

“ Best, best, best ! ” cried Beckingham, in a 
voice quavering with anger. “ Do you call it 
the best conduct, then, to pick up a wife, if 
she is his wife (which, with all your airs, I still 
take leave to doubt), anywhere, and to pitch- 
fork her like this into the society of his relations 
and friends ? ” 

“ It is inconsiderate of him, certainly. But 
we must make allowance for the way in which 
he’s been living — all by himself” — Becking- 
ham grunted — “ and answerable to nobody for 
his actions.” 

“ Answerable to nobody, indeed ! What 
about me ? Haven’t I any interest in his 
affairs? I—” 

Mrs. Laffan grew impatient. 

“ Really, Beckingham,” said she, interrupt- 
ing him, “it’s time you should be told what 
everybody thinks of your conduct in watch- 
ing so- eagerly for something to happen to 
Martin !” 

“ Something to happen ! I ! What has 
put such an idea into your head ? ” 

“ Why, what other idea can you have in 
your mind, than the hope that he’ll die before 
you and let you succeed to the property, to 


A Cold Reception. 67 

make you so anxious to prevent his mar- 
riage ? ” 

“ I anxious to prevent his marrying ! Not 
at all. I—” 

“ Oh, the fact’s common property. You’ve 
never attempted to conceal it,” said Mrs. 
Laffan, haughtily. “And I ask you whether 
it’s not rather disgusting to see a man of your 
age—” 

“ My age ! My age ! I’m only fifty-four ! ” 

“ Yes, but you look ten years older than 
that,” cruelly went on his sister-in-law. “To 
see, as I said, a man of fifty-four waiting 
eagerly for the death of his nephew, who, be- 
ing fifteen or sixteen years younger, will, in 
the natural course of things, outlive him ! ” 

Beckingham was enraged beyond measure 
at this plain speaking. He had always had an 
idea that his hopes of succeeding to his neph- 
ew’s estate, which had grown high since 
Martin had taken up his residence in a country 
where there was no “ close time ” for land- 
lords, were carefully concealed. And to dis- 
cover that his sister-in-law had found him 
out was gall to the sour, elderly man ; while 
the reference to his age was wormwood. 

“There’s no talking to you women!” he 
grumbled to himself as he made off in the di- 
rection of the house. “ Nobody else would 
ever have dared to accuse me of such a thing^ 


68 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

or to talk to me as if I were as old as Methuse- 
lah, either ! ” 

As soon as Beckingham’s back was turned, 
Martin took a step upward, with the intention 
of addressing a few words of remonstrance and 
apology to his mother. But Mrs. Laffan, not 
quite mistress of herself, felt that she would 
rather not meet him just then, and hurried into 
the house after her brother-in-law. 

Although she had loyally stifled her doubts 
and held a brave front to the enemy Becking- 
ham, the poor lady was by no means easy in 
her mind with regard to the bride whom her 
son had sprung upon them all. Without 
sharing Beckingham’s suspicions, she could 
not conceal from herself that there was some- 
thing mysterious about the bringing home of 
the unexpected wife, of whom nobody knew 
anything, and something suspicious about the 
manner of the girl herself. For there was 
more than timidity, more than the nervousness 
of an embarrassed woman, in Monica’s eyes, 
her voice, in her every movement. She seemed, 
to the calm eyes of the elder lady, to be suffer- 
ing from something like a paralysis of acute 
fear. 

Martin himself felt that there was more than 
the shyness of the bride in Monica’s manner. 
It was not the first time that day that he had 
noticed it. All through the long drive over 


A Cold Reception. 69 

the rough roads, which had succeeded their 
short railway journey that morning, he had been 
conscious, of a constraint, a shy shrinking on 
the part of the girl whom he had made his 
wife that very day, which troubled and hurt 
him. 

Now, when both his mother and Beckingham 
had disappeared, and he retraced his steps in 
search of Monica and Ethel, whom he had 
left together, the trouble appeared again in his 
eyes as he saw his young wife turn pale at his 
approach. 

The two women had sauntered a little way 
over the rough grass together, and Martin no- 
ticed that Monica was clinging to her com- 
panion with a sort of helpless terror which dis- 
mayed and irritated him. 

“Well, Miss Cray,” said Martin, turning to 
speak to her, as he found it easier to do than 
to address the shrinking Monica, “ my poor 
little wife hasn’t had one word of welcome from 
anybody but you.” 

“ But we’ve struck up quite a warm friend- 
ship already, so she won’t miss the others,” 
retorted Ethel, “ unless I am exaggerating my 
own fascinations.” 

And she turned with a bright laugh to 
Monica. 

“ I can’t exaggerate your kindness,” cried 
the poor bride, in a low voice, with an inde- 


70 


The Plain Miss Cray, 

scribable look of piteous appeal in her great, 
soft brown eyes, as she came still closer to the 
other woman. “You’ve made me feel quite 
different.” 

“Quite at home, eh?” put in Martin, trying 
to speak cheerfully, but not succeeding very 
well. 

And again, to his dismay, his young wife’s 
tone grew cold and timid as she answered 
him, — 

“ Oh, yes, thank you.” 

Ethel’s shrewd glance took in all : the bride’s 
shrinking alarm, the bridegroom’s distress. 
She pounced upon a remedy for this awkward 
state of things. 

“ Supposing, Mr, Laffan,” suggested she, 
“ you were to leave Mrs. Laffan with me, 
while you go and make your apologies to the 
rest for the rather cruel way in which you 
have behaved to us all ? I’ll show her over 
the house — ” 

“ Yes, yes, I should like that,” broke in 
Monica, with hoarse eagerness. 

Ethel pressed her hand reassuringly. 

“ I thought so. You see, she feels that it’s 
rather awkward for her, and that your guests 
think part of this is her fault.” 

“ Yes, yes, that’s right,” whispered Monica, 
“ I — I should like to go with you while Mr. 
Laffan — ” 


A Cold Reception. 71 

She half turned towards him, but did not 
raise her eyes to his face. Martin retreated a 
few steps, wounded, perplexed. 

“All right,” said he, rather gruffly. “You’ll 
show her round then. Miss Cray.” 

And he gave Ethel a grateful look as he 
went, not towards the house, but towards the 
potato-field, where Luke was leaning on his 
spade, eagerly waiting for a word with his 
returned master. 

A woman’s wit had told Ethel that there 
was something wrong, and the timidity, the 
evident fear of the brown -eyed, beautiful girl 
had appealed to her kindly sympathies. She 
led Monica towards the house, pointed out to 
her the homely beauties of the low, oak-pan- 
eled hall, of the wide, shallow staircase with 
the old armor hanging, deep in dust, on the 
walls, and of the long gallery above, where the 
family portraits were, and the statues which 
Martin’s father had brought from Rome, with 
mosaic tables, and other treasures which time 
and change of fashion had robbed of some of 
their charm. 

Monica grew quieter, happier, in the society 
of her bright, kindly guide. 

“ Fs a great pity the house has been so much 
neglected,” remarked Ethel, as she and Monica 
sauntered through the long gallery together. 
“ That’s the worst of absenteeism. And even 


72 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

the presence of a bachelor landlord isn’t much 
better. It remains for you,” she went on, 
smiling into the bride’s face, “ to put things 
right.” 

But Monica, who had been regaining her 
self-possession in the congenial society of the 
kindly girl, began to tremble again at these 
words. 

“ No, oh, no, I can do nothing,” she said in 
a frightened voice. “ I — ” 

Ethel laughed brightly. 

“ I see you haven’t yet got over the shock of 
your reception,” she said. “But you mustn’t 
blame Mr. Laffan so much for that. I’m in- 
clined to think that Mrs. Laffan hardly led him 
to expect such an influx of visitors. Anyhow, 
from what I’ve heard, he’s such a good fellow 
that none of us can hold a grudge against him 
long.” 

Monica looked at her inquiringly. 

“ Such — a good — fellow,” she repeated faintly. 
“Why, I’d heard—” 

“ What ?” asked Ethel, rather surprised by 
a certain suggestion made by her tone. 

“ Oh, well, I mean — you don’t think, then, 
it’s true that he’s vindictive, as they say ? ” 

“Vindictive! No, I certainly should not. 
You should hear what his friend says about 
him, and his servants, and the tenants. But 
what made you think — ” 


73 


A Cold Reception. 

Monica shrank back into herself. 

“ Oh, no, no, of course I was wrong,” she 
cried in confusion. And happening to glance 
out of the nearest window, which was be- 
grimed with the dust of years, she said quickly, 
“ Oh, they’re coming ! Couldn’t we get out 
by another way ? ” 

Ethel had followed the direction of her 
glance, and seen that Martin and Oswin, below 
on the terrace, were making signs that they 
were coming up. She cast a curious glance at 
the bride. 

“ I don’t think we can go through the door 
at the other end,” she said. “ There is a way 
through, but it’s blocked up, and the passage 
is used as a lumber room. We should cover 
ourselves with dust. No, I think it’s time we 
made peace, don’t you ? ” 

Monica was silent. She stood with her back 
half turned to her companion, who was able to 
perceive that her breast heaved and that it was 
only by a strong effort at self-control that she 
kept her tears from overflowing. 

In silence the two waited until the footsteps 
of the two men on the stairs came near the door 
of the gallery. Martin was speaking of Ethel 
in terms of grateful praise. 

“ I could almost forgive my mother for im- 
porting that terrible personage, Mrs. Jesmond- 
Cray,” said he, as they appoached the gallery. 


74 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

“ in consideration of her having brought the 
daughter with her.” 

Oswin said, “ H’m ! ” very drily, and Martin 
stared at him. 

“You don’t agree with me that she is a 
charming girl ? ” 

“ Emphatically I don’t. The fact is, I 
haven’t known her more than an hour, and 
already we’ve had a violent quarrel. She 
insulted me grossly.” 

“ Then I’m ready to bet it was your fault,” 
said Martin, with conviction. 

“ Possibly. The fact remains that she has 
not endeared herself to me. However, there’s 
no talking to you now you’re a married 
man. I look upon you as gone over to the 
enemy.” 

Martin and Oswin were by this time on the 
threshold of the long room, where the bright 
yellow light of the sunset came aslant through 
the murky windows, checkered by the moving 
shadows of the trees on the west outside. The 
two women made a pretty picture, as Ethel sat, 
in her smart and pretty light frock, in a window 
seat which she had taken care to dust : and 
Monica, tall, slender, dressed very simple in a 
dark dress and black hat, stood beside her in 
the sunlight. 

Two altogether different types they repre- 
sented ; theone self-reliant, shrewd, used to the 


A Cold Reception. 75 

world ; the other helpless, clinging, unused to 
society, almost rustic in her shyness. 

Martin came forward quickly, leaving his 
companion behind. As before, it was to Ethel 
he addressed himself first. 

“Miss Cray, this is very good of you,” said 
he. “ Everybody still runs away from us but 
you. I know it’s all through my own con- 
founded stupidity, but ought they to visit my 
sins upon her ? Look, she’s quite ill ! ” 

Ethel, who had risen and come forward to 
meet him, laughed brightly. 

“ No, she isn’t. Go and ask her forgiveness 
for the confounded stupidity you spoke about, 
and she’ll soon be well again.” 

And Ethel was withdrawing in the direction 
of the door, when Monica suddenly appeared 
at her elbow. 

“ Don’t go away,” she whispered quickly. 

And she bent her head to look into Ethel’s 
eyes imploringly. 

But Ethel was firm. She had done her part ; 
and she thought it was time for explanations 
between husband and wife, and for Martin to 
make his own apology for the distress he had 
brought about by his thoughtless behavior. 

“ I must go,” said she, laughing, as she 
gently disengaged her arm from Monica’s grasp. 
“ I want to pour oil on the troubled waters 
downstairs.” 


76 ^ The Plain Miss Cray. 

Oswin, who had come with Martin as far 
as the door, had by this time disappeared. 
Martin followed Ethel for a few steps as she 
went in the same direction. 

“ Miss Cray,” cried he, impulsively, “ if you 
were a man I should say you were a brick.” 

“Well, -I’m quite as hard," laughed Ethel. 

“ I don’t believe it.” 

She looked back with a sparkle in her quiet 
eyes. 

“ Don’t you ? Ask Mr. Smith," said she, 
demurely as she passed through the doorway, 
and left husband and wife together. 


An Explanation. 


77 


CHAPTER VI. 

AN EXPLANATION. 

“ There’s the woman you ought to have 
married ! ” cried Monica, suddenly, as Martin 
hastened back to her. 

He threw his arm around her shrinking 
form. 

“ And here, thank heaven, is the woman I 
have married,” cried he, with the fervor of a 
lover. 

But Monica shuddered and tried to with- 
draw herself from his embrace. 

“Ah, but it’s all a mistake, a dreadful mis- 
take,” cried she. “ You must see now your- 
self that it is.’’ Her tone grew wilder, her 
breathing quicker, as she went on. “ I was 
hurried into it, rushed into it, and now I’m 
sorry, oh, dreadfully, horribly sorry ! ” 

And she suddenly broke down, and buried 
her face in her hands, sobbing faintly. 

Martin was for the moment appalled by the 
utter distress of his bride. Then he put one 
strong arm round her heaving shoulders, and 


78 The Plain Miss Cray. 

passing a loving, tender hand over her trem- 
bling fingers, whispered, in the gentlest, most 
moving tones, in her ear, — 

“ You think so now, but you shan’t think so 
long. I won’t let you be sorry. You shall 
forget all about my own boorish stupidity, that 
exposed you to this reception. You shall 
forget everything but that I love you. Come, 
come, my darling, look up and forgive me.” 

But for all answer she shook her head, moan- 
ing half aloud. Martin let his voice drop till 
it was only just loud enough for her to hear. 

“ My darling, all this is because you’ve 
never been happy. You’ve told me that, you 
know. You can’t understand what happiness 
is, when you stand on the threshold of it. 
But you are going to be as happy as the day 
is long. I love you so, I love you so. I 
never knew what the word woman meant till 
I saw your face, my wife, my lovely wife ! ” 
And as he spoke he pressed a tender kiss 
upon her forehead, just where the soft brown 
hair hung lightly over it. She started and got 
away to the window, where her hat was lying. 
Stooping to pick it up, she said breathlessly, 
keeping her face turned away, and trying to 
control her voice,— 

“ How can 5^ou say that ? You can’t know 
me ; you don’t. Six weeks ago you’d never 
seen me ! ” 


79 


An Explanation. 

Martin laughed a little. 

“ True ! Six weeks ago I would have sworn 
the woman who could turn my head didn’t 
exist.” 

She turned upon him sharply. 

“ That’s it. I must have turned your head. 
Otherwise you would see, what your friends 
see, that you’ve made a mistake, that I’m not 
the wife for you.” 

He looked at her in surprise and alarm. 

“ My darling, why do you speak like this to 
me ! Surely you needn’t trouble your head 
so much about the rudeness of a spiteful old 
woman ! ” 

“ Oh, no, no, it wasn’t that. — At least, not all 
that,” stammered Monica, hastily, apparently 
casting about for an excuse. “But I’m sorry 
you forgot they were all here. It — it was 
rather awkward, wasn’t it,” and she tried to 
laugh a little, “ for everybody ? ” 

Martin turned away impatiently, ruffling 
up his hair with his hands. 

“ It was simply the confoundedest piece of 
idiotcy any fool’s ever been guilty of ! ” cried 
he ruefully. “ But look here, Monica, of 
couse I’ve got to bear all the blame, but it 
was my mother’s fault, really. She never told 
me how soon she was coming. My impres- 
sion is that she meant to take me by surprise. 
By Jove, she’s succeeded ! ” he added dole- 


8o 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

fully, as he again turned away and took a few 
steps up and down. 

There was a short pause, and then he rather 
unexpectedly found Monica face to face with 
him, with an eager expression in her eyes, 
which puzzled him. 

“Well, we don’t want to spoil everything 
now, do we ? ” she was asking hurriedly, with- 
out meeting his eyes. “ It isn’t the fault of 
these ladies ; and yet they’ll feel bound to 
rush away, and all the others too. Oh, it would 
be dreadful, wouldn’t it ? So inhospitable ! 
And I should feel that it was all through me ! ’’ 

Martin looked at her in extreme surprise at 
the change in her tone and manner. 

“ Well, how — what do you propose ? ” he 
asked, staring at her stupidly. 

Monica’s breath was coming in gasps. She 
was evidently in a state of great excitement. 

“Listen,” said she. “You won’t let them 
know we were only married this morning. 
You’ll let them think we were married six 
weeks ago, when you first went away. You’ve 
only brought me here to-day to show me the 
place, as I’ve been sent for to go and see my 
mother, who’s ill.” 

“ I see,” said Martin, quickly. “ Then we 
go off again this afternoon — ” 

“ I do, not you,” interrupted Monica, hastily. 
“ You will stay behind with your guests,” 


An Explanation. 8i 

“ Confound my guests ! No, if you go, I 
go. But if you’ll stay, we’ll tell them this 
story, and do our best to entertain them as long 
as they choose to remain. I’m a vile host. I 
don’t understand amusing ladies. But you’ll 
teach me, won’t you ? ” 

And as he spoke, he put his arm again about 
her. 

Monica struggled away once more. 

“ Oh, no, I can’t,” said she, quickly. “ I 
can’t stay. I feel nervous, frightened, shaken ; 
as if I could scarcely speak without crying. 
Let me go back for a few days, as I suggest. 
Then, when your friends are gone away, or — 
or sooner if you like — I only ask for a few days, 
just a few days — ” 

And she stopped short in her speech, draw- ’ 
ing back again, as Martin once more approached 
her. 

“ Monica, Monica, don’t you love me ? Don’t 
you care for me — just a little ? It frightens 
me to see you shrink from me like this ! 
Surely, surely there’s nothing to be afraid of 
in the love of your husband. Oh, my little 
one, if you could know how I worship you, 
how you’ve become the desire of my heart 
andthe light of my eyes, you wouldn’t talk of 
leaving me even for a day ! ” 

He had checked the passionate impulse to 
come near her, chilled, alarmed by the strange 


82 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

eagerness of her manner. Now there came 
into her face a look of keen distress, and she 
dashed the rising tears from her eyes. 

“ Don’t talk like that,” she cried. “ Don’t, 
don’t. It wrings my heart.” 

Martin looked yearningly at her beautiful 
face, now distorted with distress. 

“ Wrings your heart ! ” echoed he, very ten- 
derly. "Why, child, that’s just what I want 
to do. I want you to feel a little of what I 
feel for you. Mind, you’re to do just as you 
please. I’ve sworn to make you happy, and 
you shall be happy in just what way you please. 
Remember only that if you take yourself out 
of my sight you make me miserable. You 
may be happy without me ; I can’t be happy 
without you.” 

As he finished speaking, his voice gave way, 
and he staggered to the window-seat and sat 
down. A great look of pain and horror came 
into Monica’s face. As if the words were torn 
from her, she cried, — 

“Why, you’re good, noble ! It’s not true 
that you’re vindictive, wicked ! ” 

" Wicked ! who’s been telling you I’m 
wicked ? ” 

Monica shrank away before his look of 
amazement and anger. 

“ Vindictive,” she answered quickly, in a 
low, frightened voice. " They said you were 


An Explanation. 83 

vindictive, revengeful.” She paused a mo- 
ment, and then went on, with a shy, sidelong 
look at his frowning face. “ Captain Malcolm, 
your agent, was shot — three years ago — ” 

“ Yes,” answered Martin, still more surprised 
at the turn the talk was taking. “Well ?” 

“ And you’ve been hunting down a man 
who never did it, ever since,” 

“ Hunting him down ! ” echoed Martin. 
“ No, I haven’t. I wish I’d had the chance. 
He takes good care to keep out of my clutches.” 

“ But he never did it,” retorted Monica, 
quickly. “ It wasn’t he who shot Captain 
Malcolm.” 

Martin, with another broad stare of astonish- 
ment, leaned back in the window-seat. 

“ Who was it then ? What do you know 
about it ? ” 

“ I know,” replied Monica, earnestly, “ that 
the murder was not committed by Derrick 
O’Hara ! ” 

“ But how do you know ? ” asked Martin, 
shortly. 

“ I know,” replied Monica, her voice and 
her gaze faltering a little ; “ I’m sure that 
Derrick is incapable of anything mean or base.” 

“You know the fellow?” said Martin, still 
shortly. 

“ I did, three years ago, before he had to 
leave the country.” 


84 The Plain Miss Cray. 

Martin laughed. 

Had to leave it ! Is that the action of an 
honest man ? And you — you were seventeen 
— a child. What could you know of the man’s 
character ? ” 

“ I know,” answered Monica, in a low voice, 
“ that he was adored by his mother and his 
wife.” 

“ I didn’t even know that he had a wife.” 

“He has none now,” said Monica, with a 
sudden change to a reckless and bitter tone. 

“ Is she dead, then ? ” asked Martin, in an 
even voice, after a moment’s silence. 

“ No, she’s married to another man.” 

“ But that’s bigamy ! ” 

“ She couldn’t help herself,” sighed Monica, 
out of whom the fire seemed to have died, 
leaving her despairing. “They told her if she 
married again the police would think Derrick 
must be dead, and would leave off their pur- 
suit of him. So that he could come back.” 

“ The little hussy ! ” cried Martin, who had 
become quite calm, quite cold. “ And what 
about husband number two ? He was to be 
left in the lurch, I suppose ?” 

Monica grew a little more earnest, a little 
softer of tone, as the tenderness, the passion 
died out of Martin’s voice. She came a couple 
of steps nearer. 

“ But he wouldn’t mind, would he, being left 


An Explanation. 85 

in the lurch, as you call it, by such a woman 
as that ? ” 

“ Well, he ought not to.” And a harsh note 
was heard in Martin’s voice. “ He’d be a fool 
if he did. But it depends upon the sort of 
man — and on the sort of woman.” 

“ Suppose,” said Monica, almost in a whis- 
per, “ it was a woman who was not very clev- 
er, or very wise, but who was affectionate and 
easily persuaded. And suppose it was all 
hurried through so quickly that she hadn’t 
time to realize what she had done till it was all 
over. And suppose she then saw that the man 
she had deceived was noble, honorable ; and 
that she went down on her knees” — and as she 
spoke, Monica slid to the ground and clasped 
her hands, trembling and supplicating in the 
dust under the old paneled wall—” to beg 
him to be merciful to her, and to her husband, 
and to let her go. What would he say then ? ” 
She caught her breath. ” What would he do 
then ? ” 

Martin rose up quickly. 

” What would he say ? ” cried he, in a deep, 
firm voice, like one pronouncing sentence. 
“Why, he’d say that the woman was a fool, and 
the man a knave. What would he do ? Pros- 
ecute the woman for bigamy, and have the 
man hanged.” 

Monica sprang up, and her eyes blazed. 


86 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

“ Prosecute me, if you like ; you shall never 
do harm to him ! ” 

Martin put his hand heavily on her shoulder 
and stared into her face. 

“ Who are you ? ” he asked hoarsely. 

The answer came in a breathless whisper,— 
“ Pm Derrick O’Hara’s wife !” 


What the Bachelors Thought. 


87 


CHAPTER VII. 

WHAT THE BACHELORS THOUGHT. 

Five weeks passed at Abbey Mallow with 
an intensity of enjoyment for most of the 
party, which not one of them had anticipated 
at the outset. 

True, there was a desperate feud raging be- 
tween Oswin Smith and Ethel Cray, a feud 
which seemed to increase in intensity as the 
days went by, until the whole of the household 
and the nearest neighbors found themselves 
instinctively drawn to take sides, if not act- 
ually to take part in it. 

True, that Mrs. Jesmond-Cray lived in a 
perpetual state of terror, lest the sharp tongue 
of her elder daughter should drive away the 
newly-enriched Oswin, just when he seemed 
to be really seriously attracted by the pretty 
eyes of Gladys. 

True it is, also, that she began to find it 
necessary to keep a sharp lookout on the go- 
ings and comings of Gladys herself, who, usu- 
ally so docile, had formed a habit of persisting 
in taking solitary walks in the early morning. 


88 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

Certainly, these promenades were good for her 
figure and complexion ; but Mrs. Jesmond- 
Cray, whose profession of match-maker had 
taught her to be all eyes, had an uneasy feel- 
ing that the ragged Sir Michael O’Keeffe, the 
“ beggarly baronet,” who farmed his own land 
and had no dress clothes, had a habit of being 
about the grounds when Gladys went out by 
herself. 

But, on the whole, in spite of these and 
other trifling drawbacks, the days went happily 
by, and nobody seemed anxious to be the first 
to break up the party. 

In the first place, Martin Laffan roused him- 
self to a sense of what was required of him, 
and sent for a load of brand-new furniture from 
Dublin, having first had a general clean-up all 
over the house, which caused a great deal of 
bustle and a good deal of fun among the 
guests. 

Monica, though she was always quiet and 
even rather timid in manner, took her place 
in the household with a grace and general 
thoughtfulness for others that speedily made 
a way for her into the hearts even of the oldest 
servants. Nobody guessed at the strange story 
of her marriage with Martin, which was never 
even mentioned by these two oddly-matched 
creatures, after that first day'of explanations. 

Martin had taken her confession very quietly, 


What the Bachelors Thought, 89 

had expressed his intention of forgiving her, 
upon condition that she consented to remain 
for a time at Abbey Mallow in the character of 
his wife to all appearance, and had promised 
to let her go away as soon as the guests had 
taken their departure. 

Full of shame and remorse, Monica had 
found it impossible to refuse his peremptorily- 
made request, and had striven to the utmost to 
make his servants and his guests happy and 
comfortable. 

The days were so full, between fishing ex- 
cursions, shooting and walking expeditions, 
and the mere lounging which many of the 
party found entirely delightful, that there was 
little time or opportunity for minute criticism 
of the attitude of Martin and Monica towards 
each other. In public they were always on 
good terms ; and only one person was so in- 
quisitive as to pry into their private relations, 
to note that they took care never to be left 
alone together, and that, while Monica spent 
her days chiefly in the house, sorting the books, 
dusting them and the old china, and mending 
rents in the ragged tapestries and furniture 
covers, Martin, on the other hand, was nearly 
always out of doors, except when he was shut 
up alone in his own study. 

The one person who noted all these things 
and a great many others, was the lynx-eyed 


90 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

Beckingham, who pounced and pried, and 
peeped and listened, as much as he decently 
could, and perhaps a little more than that. 

It was in the fifth week of this pleasant, 
happy-go-lucky life that Beckingham shuffled 
into the billiard-room early one evening, while 
the old butler Prickett was lighting up, and 
before the rest of the gentlemen had left the 
dining-room. 

It was a very pleasant apartment, this long, 
oddly-shaped billiard-room, which had been 
formed by adding to one of the original rooms 
a three-cornered space taken from the back 
premises. At one end there was a small table 
with cigars upon it, a saddle-bag couch and 
two big easy-chairs, one with a reading-stand 
and candlestick attached to it. 

The butler started, as he turned up the 
lamps over the billiard-table, on hearing Beck- 
ingham’s grating tones behind him. 

“ H’m, Prickett, you’ve been a long time in 
the family now, haven’t you ? ” 

“ Forty-three years, sir, come Lady Day. I 
was in the family when Mr. Martin was born, 
as you may remember, sir. You came down 
from London in a hurry, quite unexpected, and 
not best pleased, as was only natural, seeing the 
estate would have passed to you if — ” 

“Yes, yes, we know all that,” said Becking- 
ham, testily ; “ it’s ancient history. I suppose. 


What the Bachelors Thought. 91 

now, there isn’t much that goes on under this 
roof that you don’t know something of ? ” 

Prickett replied, with a complacent smile and 
a shake of the head, — 

“ Well, I shouldn’t like to boast, sir, but 
seeing that I look upon myself as one of the 
family — ” 

“ Quite so. It’s only fair that you should be 
consulted a little,” agreed Beckingham. 

“Yes, and I may say, sir, that Mr. Martin 
would find it to his advantage if he was to 
consult me even more than he does.” 

And the butler swelled with conscious 
dignity. 

“ I’m sure he would, Prickett. Now this 
marriage of his. I’m sure you wouldn’t have 
counseled his making such a foolish match, 
with a girl nobody knows anything about, if 
you’d had a hand in the matter ? ” 

“Well, sir, I don’t say as I should. Though, 
mind you, sir. I’ve nothing to say against the 
5'^oung lady, sir, nothing w^hatever ; she’s not 
one of the interfering, new-broom-sweep-clean- 
ing sort, that’s jealous of old influences and old 
faces. I will say that of Mrs. Martin.” 

" And do you think, Prickett,” said Becking- 
ham, coming nearer and speaking more con- 
fidentially — “ now I should like your candid 
opinion — that they are quite as devoted as a 
newly-married couple ought to be ? I put it 


92 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

to you as an old friend of the family ; haven’t 
you noticed that there’s a light now at night in 
the little tower bedroom just over Mr. Martin’s, 
that hasn’t been used for years ? Doesn’t it 
look to you as if they had separate rooms ? ” 

The old butler looked startled by these 
questions, but he recovered himself with great 
dignity. 

“ Really, sir, Mr. Martin’s sleeping arrange- 
ments are his own affair, and I must decline 
to discuss them with anybody.” 

And Prickett, after carrying his taper to the 
other end of the room, and lighting the reading 
candle, and the candles on the mantelpiece, 
left the room with an air of great consequence. 

Beckingham looked much disgusted at his 
failure to make any fresh discovery. 

“ Don’t know anything,” he muttered to him- 
self, half aloud. “Would discuss any mortal 
thing he did know till three in the morning.” 

His reflections were interrupted by the en- 
trance of old Mrs. Laffan. 

“ Nobody out of the dining-room yet but 
you?” said she, as she looked round. “My 
dear Beckingham, do try and persuade them 
not to spend such a long time in here to-night. 
It’s very rude of them, and it makes Mrs. Cray 
so disagreeable.” 

“ I can send Sir Michael O’Keeffe in to you,” 
suggested Beckingham, maliciously. “ He’s 


What the Bachelors Thought. 93 

delighted to go anywhere to be near Miss 
Gladys.” 

“ But that’s just what we don’t want,” cried 
his sister-in-law, impatiently. “ He’s an im- 
possibility for Gladys, as you know. It’s Os- 
win Smith we want for her.” 

Beckingham chuckled. 

“ But he isn’t such a fool ! You match- 
makers ! can’t you take warning by the failure 
under your noses ?” 

“ Failure ! ” said Mrs. Laffan, in a troubled 
voice. “ What do you mean ? ” 

“Oh, you know very well what I mean. 
Does Martin look any happier since he’s been 
married ? Isn’t he ten times more of a bear 
than he was before ? Does his wife look happy 
or contented ? Doesn’t she watch him about 
much as a performing lion does its tamer ? 
And haven’t these last five weeks been a 
wretched time for everybody in consequence ?” 

“You exaggerate absurdly, Beckingham. 
Monica’s a little shy ; the position of head of 
a large household, and entertainer to a lot of 
people, is new to her, of course. And Martin, 
well, he’s been a crusty old bachelor so long 
that — that — ” 

“ That he wishes he could be a crusty old 
bachelor once again. Oh, I’ve no patience 
with people who have eyes, and won’t see with 
them ! ” 


94 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

“ It doesn’t do to see too much,” retorted 
Mrs. Laffan, gravely. Then, as the voices of 
the gentlemen were heard outside the door, 
she added quickly, “ Send us Oswin if you 
can.” 

And she left the billiard-room by the door 
which led to the drawing-room, just as Oswin, 
Sir Michael O’Keeffe and Martin Laffan were 
coming from the dining-room towards the 
second door of the room. 

Old Beckingham, in great disgust with his 
sister-in law and her apparent want of proper 
curiosity, went sulkily to the small table, where 
he proceeded to choose himself a cigar, and 
was so occupied when the other men came in. 
Oswin went straight to the reading chair, 
threw himself into it, took up a newspaper 
from the smoking table, and then dashed it 
down in disgust. 

“Yesterday’s ! That’s what comes of visit- 
ing in a barbarous country ! ” cried he, only 
half in jest. “ Martin, why don’t you go and 
live somewhere where you can get the day’s 
news while it’s fresh ? ” 

“ Because I prefer it stale,” replied his host, 
easily. “ When I hear of a birth, a marriage, 
or a death, it’s too late for me to have to con- 
gratulate or condole. When I read the money 
article, the prices have changed, and there’s no 
temptation to risk my money. I like my 


What the Bachelors Thought. 95 

scandals with the edge off, and my scathing 
criticisms when the sting’s gone out of 
them.” 

“ Egad, Laffan,” cried Sir Michael, a hand- 
some, fresh-colored Irishman, with black hair 
and merry blue eyes, “ but you’re right ! 
When there’s blight in the potatoes, or the 
back door’s come off its hinges, ye don’t want 
to be troubled with a trifle like war with 
Russia ! ” 

In spite of his strong brogue, and of the 
fact that he wore, not the ordinary Londoner’s 
evening clothes as Oswin did, nor white shirt 
and dinner jacket such as Martin had put on 
in honor of his guests, but a rather shabby 
shooting-coat. Sir Michael had an indefinable 
air of distinction. 

“Your mother commissioned me, Martin,” 
broke in Beckingham’s rasping voice, “ to tell 
you not to be so long on your way to the draw- 
ing-room. It seems the ladies are pining for 
your society, particularly ” — and here his voice 
grew into a snarl — “ for Smith’s.” 

Oswin looked round, and raised his eye- 
brows. 

“ Smith’s not coming,” said he, softly, as he 
settled himself more comfortably in his chair 
and took out a pouch and cigarette papers. 

Martin looked up at this, and then came 
deliberately, cigar in mouth, and planted him- 


96 The Plain Miss Cray, 

self in front of Oswin, with his hands in his 
pockets. 

“ Oswin,” said he, “ this miserable three 
thousand a year has been the ruin of you. 
You used to be a nice chap ! ” 

“Well, and ain’t I a nice chap now — to 
you ! ” said Oswin, laughing, but looking rather 
abashed. 

“ No, you ain't,” answered Martin, emphat- 
ically. “ To me, or to anybody. Now I used 
to look forward to your visit more than to any- 
thing else in the whole year.” 

Oswin interrupted him maliciously, 

“ Ah, but that was before you were married ! 
It’s marriage that has changed you, not money 
that has changed me ! ” 

“ By Jove ! ” cried Martin, incredulously, 
“ is it, though ? ” And then he added abrupt- 
ly, “ How am I changed ?” 

“ Well,” said Oswin, momentarily embar- 
rassed, “ you have a sort of look as if you’d 
rubbed the dose on the gouty foot, and swal- 
lowed the liniment ! ” 

“ You mean that I don’t look so — jolly, in 
fact ? ” suggested his host, softly. 

Oswin shook his head emphatically. 

“ Not at all jolly.” 

“ Well, I’ll own up,” said Martin, in a low 
voice, after a pause, and after convincing him- 
self that his uncle was occupied in conversa- 


What the Bachelors Thought, 97 

tion with Sir Michael. “ I’ve something on 
my mind just now. I’ve set a trap for a rascal, 
and I’m lying low till he walks into it.” 

Oswin looked at the set, square jaw of the 
man curiously, 

“ Have you, though ? ” said he, with interest. 
“ Then I shouldn’t like to be that rascal when 
he does.” 

“ Come,” said Martin, “ I’ve given you a 
better reason for the change in me than you can 
give for the change in you.” 

“ A different reason, not a better one,” said 
Oswin, imperturbably. “ Once I used to be 
told off to be civil to the very old and the very 
young ; now, at all ages, they’re civil to me. 
I used to work like a cart-horse to be amusing 
and entertaining, and people said I was not a 
bad fellow, but rather a bore. Now I’m just 
as rude as I can be, and my wit and humor 
send everybody into fits.” 

“ Not everybody. Ethel Cray, for in- 
stance.” 

Oswin sprang up and began marching up and 
down. 

“ That woman ! That thorn-bush in petti- 
coats ! Who takes rudeness for smartness, 
and insult for epigram ! No, indeed, even in 
the old days. I should have drawn the line at 
being civil to her ! ” 

His raised voice and the excitement of his 

7 


98 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

manner attracted the attention of Sir Michael, 
who was sitting on the edge of the billiard- 
table, talking to Beckingham and making 
cannons with the balls with his hands. 

“ And who’s the ‘ her ’ he’s getting so excited 
about ? ” asked he. 

“ Miss Cray,” said Martin, with a sly look. 

Sir Michael bounced off the table and his 
handsome, ruddy face grew handsomer and 
ruddier. 

“ Gladys !” cried he. “ Well, I don’t want 
any man but myself to be civil to her.” 

“ And how does mama like your civility. Sir 
Michael ? ” put in the malicious Beckingham. 

“As much as a hen with a brood of chicks 
likes the civility of a fox,” replied Sir Michael, 
gloomily. “And I flatter myself I should 
have a chance with the girl, too, if it wasn’t for 
the old lady,” he added ruefully. 

“ Ah ! if,” croaked Beckingham. 

“ Sure, what does she want ? ” cried Michael, 
fairly roused. “ Can’t I give my wife a title ? 
and weren’t the O’Keeffes kings of Ireland in 
the old days ? ” 

“ But even live kings don’t count for much 
in these days, O’Keeffe,” suggested Martin 
Laffan. 

“ Well, perhaps my royal ancestors are more 
to brag about dead than alive,” admitted 
Michael thoughtfully. 



What the Bachelors Thought. 99 

“ Without wishing to be unsympathetic, 
O’Keeffe,” said Oswin, from his easy-chair, “ I 
must say I can’t understand any man’s being 
willing to acquire Ethel Cray for a sister-in- 
law. The sound of her voice sets my teeth on 
edge.” 

“ Why don’t you avoid her, then ? ” put in 
Martin, drily. “ It seems to me I never see 
her but you’re somewhere about.” 

“ There’s a hideous fascination about the 
woman’s colossal insolence,” explained Oswin. 
“One’s always wondering what rudeness she’ll 
be guilty of next.’” 

“ I think ye’re too severe, Smith,” said Sir 
Michael. “ It seems to me she’s clever.” 

“ Clever woman are the devil ? ” 

Martin grunted. 

“ By Jove, then,” said he, energetically, 
“ you’ve never had any experience of a silly 
one. A clever woman’s all talk. Let her talk 
on, and you can do what you like with her. 
But a fool, a pretty fool, with a pair of innocent 
eyes, and a tongue that lisps out — nothing worth 
hearing — ^you take her to your heart, you cher- 
ish her, you worship her, and, by Jove, she 
turns round, snaps her fingers, and lets you see 
she was laughing in her sleeve all the time ! ” 

The other men were all impressed by the 
emphasis with which their host spoke. Beck- 
ingham, who had been watching him with a 


L.¥C. 


100 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

dry smile about his wrinkled mouth, made 
comment after a moment’s pause. 

“H’m, Martin, where did you read that, eh? ” 

“ Let ’em be silly, or let ’em be clever, as 
long as they’re young,” cried Sir Michael, per- 
ceiving that the elder man s remark was 
inopportune. 

“ Some of ’em never are young,” said Oswin. 

“Even Gladys must grow old some day,” 
said Beckingham, “ and probably will be very 
much what her mother is.” 

“ Never, sir,” said Sir Michael, hotly. “ If 
I were to marry Gladys, she should never 
reach thirty. I would kill her, gently but 
firmly, before she could begin to grow like her 
mother. When I met her in Heaven, do you 
suppose I could pass eternity with an angel 
like Mrs. Cray ? ” 

Beckingham began to shuffle towards the 
door which led to the drawing-room. At the 
door he turned to say, with a grimace of dis- 
gust, “ Ugh ! you, none of you mean a word 
you say. There’s a morbid hankering at the 
bottom of all these demonstrations. The 
women are sincerity itself compared to you. 
I’m off— to the drawing-room.” 

And with that he shuffled out of the room. 

“ And I’ll be going after him, just to see he 
doesn’t give us away,” said Sir Michael, leaving 
the billiard-table to accompany the old man. 


What the Bachelors Thought. loi 

“ Aren’t you going to follow his example ? ” 
asked Martin, slyly, of Oswin, who had, indeed, 
already risen, as if negligently, from his chair. 

Oswin frowned. He looked as if he had 
been found out. 

“No,” said he, shortly, “ I’m off to the 
stables.” 

And as Sir Michael disappeared in one 
direction, he went off in the other. 




102 


The Plain Miss Cray. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

MR. AND MRS. MARTIN LAFFAN. 

Martin Laffan smiled a little, and then 
crossed the room slowly in the direction of the 
drawing-room. His face was hard and stern 
again by the time he had his fingers upon the 
door-handle. Before he could turn it, how- 
ever, a tight sound in the passage outside 
caught his ear, and in a moment his manner 
changed. There came no smile into his eyes, 
indeed, but his whole face softened, and he fell 
back, listening in an attitude of strained 
expectancy. 

Then the door was opened very slowly, and 
Monica appeared on the threshold. She 
looked timid and nervous, and after one quick 
glance at his face, cast her eyes down as she 
spoke. 

“ I’ve — I’ve been sent by Mrs. Laffan, to ask 
whether we may all come in and play billiards, 
said she, diffidently. 

Martin’s tone was very gentle as he answered 
her. 


Mr. and Mrs. Martin Laffan. 103 

“ Why do you ask? Why didn’t you bring 
them ? ” 

Monica still kept her eyelids lowered. 

“Mrs. Laffan didn’t like to, as you had 
stayed in here by yourself. But they’re all 
getting so nasty to each other — Mrs. Jesmond- 
Cray snapping at Gladys, and Ethel beginning 
again upon Mr. Smith — that she whispered to 
me that I’d better come. When your uncle 
came in, you see, it was the last straw ! ” 

Martin smiled. 

“She was quite right,” said Martin. “ And 
you must bring them all in here. But wait 
one moment,” he added quickly, and he got 
deftly between her and the door, to her evi- 
dent alarm ; “ I have something to say to you. 
You know you never give me a chance of 
speaking to you,” he said, deferentially and in 
apology, as she glanced hastily at the opposite 
door, as if meditating an escape by that. “ And 
I just want to say this : whenever you want 
anything, you had much better come to me. 
And you need never ask : only say what you 
want.” 

“ Oh, but that isn’t true,” said Monica. And 
the trembling of her hands and the flushing of 
her face showed plainly that the calmness she 
had shown was only a mask to hide extreme 
agitation. She came a step further into the 
room, with a sudden air of desperation, an4 


104 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

allowed him to shut the door. “ There’s one 
thing I want, that you won’t give me,” she 
panted out, in a low voice, and with a wild, 
half-defiant look. 

Martin stood at a respectful distance, and 
asked simply, — 

“What is that?” 

“ Permission — your permission — to go away,” 
gasped Monica. 

Martin turned sharply away from her, and 
strode a few paces down the room. When he 
at last spoke, it was in a quiet tone, with 
evident constraint. 

“To go away ! Where do you want to go 
away to ? ” 

“ Back to the place where you met me. To 
my mother.” 

Martin turned to look at her, and frowned, but 
he still spoke gently enough. 

“ But she isn’t your mother : she’s only your 
mother-in-law. You’ve acknowledged that.” 

“Yes,” said Monica, timidly, with her eyes 
cast down. 

“And she didn’t treat you particularly well. 
You’ve owned that too. Or make you par- 
ticularly happy.” 

“ How could I be happy, when my husband 
was away ? ” burst out Monica, in a passionate 
whisper. 

“ Somes wives are ! ” retorted Martin, dryly. 


Mr. and Mrs. Martin Laffan. 105 

There was a pause. Then he suddenly put 
his hands behind his back and turned to her 
again. 

“ And so you want to go back to this woman 
who treats you badly, because you’re treated 
still worse here ? ” 

Monica sobbed aloud. 

‘‘ No, oh, no,” cried she. And she checked 
herself on the verge of saying more. 

Over Martin’s face there came a look of 
suspicion. 

“ You’ve seen some one ? Had some letter ? ” 
said he. 

“I’ve seen no one, heard nothing.” 

“Then why are you in such a hurry to be 
off?” 

For the first time, Monica drew near to him, 
and looked up into his face. 

“ Why do you want to keep me here ? I’m 
not your wife.” 

“ Have I ever intruded upon you ? ” asked 
Martin, shortly. 

“No, oh, no. But why keep me here ? You 
said to me, ‘ Stay a few days, until my friends 
are gone. Don’t shock them and make a 
scandal by going away.’ Didn’t you ? ” 

“Well, I say so still. There are just the 
same reasons for your staying now that there 
were then. My friends are still here.” 

“ Because you’ve insisted on their remain- 


io6 The Plain Miss Cray. 

ing,” interrupted Monica. “ They meant only 
to stay a fortnight, and they’ve all been here 
five weeks. And so have I ! ” 

“ Five weeks. Yes.” He turned to her 
with sudden passion. “ Is it much to spare 
out of a lifetime ? Five weeks ! ” 

She looked at him in terror. 

” Don’t talk to me like that ! I can’t bear 
it ! ” whispered she. 

Martin looked at her, again put strong con- 
straint upon himself, and laughed. Inviting 
her by a gesture to the sofa, he went on, in a 
lighter tone, “ Come and sit here, madam, 
and I will talk to you differently.” As he did 
not attempt to sit on the sofa himself, but 
remained leaning against the billiard-table, 
with his arms folded, Monica crossed the 
room with hesitating steps, and sat stiffly on 
the edge of the sofa as he had commanded. 
‘‘ You’ve been good enough,” he went on, 
“ during the five weeks you’ve been here, to 
take the place of head of my household.” 

” Not properly,” interrupted she, hastily. 
” I haven’t known how.” 

“ You’ve managed,” went on Martin, not 
heeding her protest, “ to establish some sort of 
harmony among a lot of discordant elements.” 

” No, I haven’t,” said Monica, again inter- 
rupting. ‘‘They quarrel all the time ! ” 

Still Martin went on in a measured tone,— 


Mr. and Mrs. Martin Laffan. 107 

“You’ve gained the good will of a lot of 
cantankerous old servants, while at the same 
time you’ve persuaded them to do their work 
properly.’’ 

“ I like the old things,’’ said Monica, softly. 
“They’re so devoted to you.” 

She caught her breath, stopped, and looked 
down stiffly at the floor. With a glowing 
face, Martin came nearer. 

“ Devoted — to me ! You like them for 
that ! ” said he, hoarsely. 

“ I mean,” explained Monica, with nervous 
haste, “ it shows they’re grateful, decent 
people. People worth considering.” 

Martin had received a slight check, but 
instead of going back to the billiard-table, he 
seated himself on the arm of the nearest 
chair as he went on, — 

“ You go about the house yourself, mending 
the holes in the old carpets and curtains. 
You’ve taken my books out of the damp cup- 
boards where they’ve been rotting, and put 
them where they’re safe. You, — ” 

“ It seems a pity to see good things spoilt,” 
said Monica, breathlessly. And— and of course 
your — your wife would have to take care of 
things. And ” — she gave a half hysterical sob 
— “ I have to pretend — I have to live up to 
the character — in — in little things like that ! 
Haven’t I ?" 


io8 The Plain Miss Cray. 

“ Of course you have,” assented Martin. 
And with a quick change of place, he was 
beside her on the sofa before she could be 
aware of his intention. “And that reminds 
me — if you were — if you were really — my 
wife ” — and his voice shook a little — “ you 
wouldn’t be wearing the same frock every 
evening. You'd be having a new one by this 
time. So we must be sending again to Dublin 
to this Madam Thingamy — she fitted you very 
well last time,” — and he glanced with approval 
at the cream-colored cashmere tea-gown, with 
its rose silk lining, which she was wearing — 
“ and telling her to make 3^ou another. Some- 
thing white, with lots of lace on it — would you 
like that ? ” 

He had taken a note-book out of his pocket, 
and made an entry in it, bending a little 
nearer to her as he did so. Monica pushed 
the book out of his hands by a rapid move- 
ment, and sprang up. 

“ No,” cried she, with decision. “ I’ll have 
no more dresses from you. I never put on 
this one, nor either of the others you’ve given 
me, without burning with shame. What 
would Derrick say ” — Martin frowned impa- 
tiently, as he snatched up his note-book and 
put it back in his pocket, — “ if he knew I was 
wearing gowns like these ? And given to me 
by another man ? ” 


Mr. and Mrs. Martin Laffan. 109 

Martin rose in his turn. 

“ You think Derrick would strain at that 
little gnat,” asked he mockingly, “ after the 
marvelous capacity he has shown for swallow- 
ing camels ? ” 

There was an ominous silence. Then Mon- 
ica, white and trembling, asked in a low 
whisper, — 

“ What do you mean ?” 

“ You can’t suppose,” said Martin hotly, 
“that he hadn’t heard of his mother’s plan of 
marrying you to me ? That it wasn’t a plot 
arranged between them the moment she found 
out that you’d taken my fancy ? ” 

Monica smiled a little, and shook her head 
with confidence. “ I’m sure it wasn’t,” said 
she, simply. “ His mother was dying with 
nothing but the longing to see him again. 
She was to write to him, saying only that now 
it was safe for him to return. And when he 
came back, she was to break the truth to him 
gently,” — her voice sank — “ that — I— had gone.” 

“ And you thought,” said Martin, sarcasti- 
cally, “ that he would put up with the loss of 
his wife if he were allowed to go with a whole 
skin ?” 

Monica drew a long breath and looked 
wildly round her. 

“ What could he do ? ” whispered she, I — 
I-” 


no 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

“ Well, perhaps that point had better be left 
a little vague,” said Martin. “ And you spoilt 
the pretty plot by confessing it to me ? ” 

“ I hadn’t known how good you were ! ” 
cried she piteously. “ I didn’t want to confess 
before. I told his mother so.” 

“ Ah ! ” 

“ But she said if I just told you Derrick was 
innocent, you wouldn’t believe me ; that I 
shouldn’t have influence enough with you 
unless — unless — ” 

She dropped her head and covered her face 
with her hands. 

Martin’s voice sounded suddenly close to 
her ear ; it was tender, plaintive, passionate. 

“You little fool!” whispered he. “You 
dear, doting little fool ! ” As she started and 
shrank down, his tone changed to one of reck- 
less gaiety. “And now, of course, you’re 
dying for the moment when he’ll come back ; 
when you can rush into his arms, and tell him 
how you’ve been pining for him, and of all 
the misery you’ve suffered in the society of 
the vile wretch who thought he was making 
you his wife.” And he burst into a wild 
laugh. “ What a laugh you’ll have at my 
expense ! ” 

Monica looked up through eyes which were 
full of tears. 

“ If he didn’t bless you as the noblest man 


Mr. and Mrs. Martin Laffan. in 

that ever lived, I’d never speak to him again,” 
sobbed she. 

With another sudden change, to an almost 
savage ferocity, Martin cried, — 

“Do you think I want the blessing of a 
scoundrel ? ” 

She uttered a little cry and sprang up. 

“ Remember you’ve promised to do him no 
harm ! ” 

“ If he’s innocent ! ” 

But Monica ran after him as he turned 
away. Seizing his arm, she hissed into his 
ear, — 

“ Or if — if he’s guilty ! Promise me, prom- 
ise me ! I won’t let j’^ou go till you’ve 
promised ! ” 

“ Take your hands off,” cried Martin, with 
sudden roughness. “ What right have you to 
ask me such a thing ? What claim have you 
upon me ? ” 

“ The claim of a woman you’ve been kind 
to,” sobbed Monica. 

“ I’ve not been kind. I’ve not meant to be 
kind, but harsh,” persisted he. 

The woman’s plaintive tones sounded softly 
in his ear. 

“Your harshness is better than other 
people’s kindness. I’ve never been treated in 
my life before as you’ve treated me. Remem- 
ber what my life has been, I never knew my 


II2 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

father or my mother, never knew what good- 
ness and kindness were like before. If you'd 
only treated me as you treat the dumb animals 
that lick your hands and whine for your 
caresses, it would have been enough. But 
you’ve done more, much more ! ” 

He turned to her with a great yearning in 
his eyes, in his voice. 

" More for you than for a dog ! Oh, 
Monica ! ” 

She drew back with an imploring gesture. 

“ Don’t, don’t ! ” she whimpered. “It’s be- 
cause every word you say to me cuts me, stabs 
me, that I must go.” For a moment she broke 
down, crying. Then she raised her head with 
sudden passion. “ You said I was a fool ! 
You were right! I was a fool to think I 
could stay under the same roof with you, 
watch your face, hear your voice without — 
without — ” 

Again she broke down into sobs. 

Martin sprang towards her. 

“ My darling ! ” 

But she kept him off by an imperious ges- 
ture. 

“ Give me your promise — no harm to Der- 
rick — before I go ! ” 

And as she spoke, she stepped back towards 
the nearest door. 

Standing in the middle of the floor, not 


Mr. and Mrs. Martin Laffan. 113 

daring to approach her more nearly, unable 
to go back, Martin whispered, — 

“ I’ll promise — I’ll promise that — if — if you’ll 
stay.” As she shook her head, and still went 
towards the door, he put strong constraint 
upon himself and half sat, half leaned on the 
arm of the sofa, beckoning to her to stop. “A 
little while — only a little while longer,” pleaded 
he, as she began to hesitate, “ until — he — 
comes — for you.” At these words, a look of 
terror flashed across Monica’s face and she 
stood listening as if transfixed. He went on 
with more energy than ever. “ You’re safe 
here. You’ve made friends with every one 
about the place. You have a chum in Ethel 
Cray. My mother’s beginning to love you — ” 
She broke out in distress at these words. 

“ Don’t you see that every day I stay makes it 
worse for us all in the end ? ” wailed she. 
When the shock, the scandal comes, how will 
your mother feel? Worse than if she hated 
me ! When I have to go away — what will 
happen then?” 

Martin flung himself, in an outburst of des- 
pair, face downwards upon the sofa. 

“ My God ! I don’t know ! ” cried he. 

For a few moments Monica stood looking at 
him, with eyes in which there shone a strange 
light. Then, as he still did not move, she 
crept slowly, with love and longing in her face, 
8 


114 The Plain Miss Cray. ' 

nearer and nearer to him, until at last, bending 
noiselessly over the back of the sofa, she 
pressed her lips softly upon his hair. 

He started up. 

“ Monica ! Monica ! ” he almost sobbed. 

But the door was closing softly. She had 
left him. Staggering back, he sank again upon 
the sofa, with his head in his hands. 


Luke, the Scamp. 


115 


CHAPTER IX. 

LUKE, THE SCAMP. 

Martin was not left long alone to indulge 
in the luxury of despair. The door on his left 
hand had not been many moments closed 
behind Monica, when he heard a step which 
he knew to be Oswin’s coming rapidly along 
the corridor from the drawing-room. He rose 
from the sofa, passed his hand over his dis- 
ordered hair, and pulled himself together to 
meet his friend without exciting remark. 

When Oswin appeared, however, pushing 
open the door of the room with a jerk to make 
his entrance, it was plain from the expression 
of his face, and the irritation expressed by his 
actions that he was in no mood to be critically 
observant. In fact he was at white heat. 

His first words were abrupt enough. 

“ Have you got such a thing as an island 
about here ? ” 

Martin raised his eyebrows. 

“An island !” echoed he. 

“Yes. I want to get away from the 
women.” 


ii6 The Plain Miss Gray. 

Martin smiled, and laid his hand on his 
friend’s shoulder. 

“ My dear boy, don’t blaspheme,” said he. 

“ Don’t what ? ” 

“ Don’t rail at the creatures whose very 
weaknesses, whose very follies, make us some- 
thing better than brutes ! ” 

Oswin turned a little, very slowly, and stared 
into his friend’s face. 

“Why, just now, only half an hour ago — ” 
Something that he saw in Martin’s face made 
him change his tone. “ Oh, I must have mis- 
understood you then, I suppose ! ” He looked 
at him steadily for a few moments longer, and 
the next words he added, as Martin was still 
silent, were positively affectionate. “ I say, old 
chap, what’s up ? ” 

“ Nothing, nothing,” said Martin, quickly, 
removing his hand from Oswin’s shoulder and 
going down to the cigar-box. He nodded 
humorously. “ Tell me about— Miss Cray ! ” 

Oswin assumed an air of desperation. 

“ Well, it’s simply this, old man, that I can’t 
stand being made the butt of that detestable 
female any longer. So I hope you won’t 
mind, old chap, if I pack up my things and 
go back to — Europe to-morrow morning ! ” 

He had left the door open, but had not 
heard, in the intensity of his own feelings and 
the excited expression he gave to them, the 


Luke, the Scamp. 117 

quiet entrance of Ethel Cray, Martin, who 
had seen her come in and noted the twinkle 
of demure humor in her eyes, would have 
interrupted this angry speech of Oswin’s by 
indicating that the lady was present. Ethel, 
however, put her finger on her lip ; and the 
unfortunate Oswin was allowed to finish what 
he was saying before her quiet voice broke in, — 

“ Mr. Smith going away ! Dear, dear ! ” 

Oswin started, glanced at her, and bounced 
off to the billiard-table. 

Martin, doing his best not to laugh, looked 
at Ethel slyly. 

“ You can’t guess what is driving him away, 
can you ?” said he. 

Ethel shook her head demurely. 

“ I never guess at the reason of any man’s 
movements. It’s waste of time. Please, we’re 
waiting to know if you’ll come and have your 
coffee in the drawing-room, where it was your 
duty to have appeared half an hour ago, or 
whether we shall come and have it in here. 
We don’t mind smoke— where there’s no 
fire.” 

“ You come in here,” said Martin, “ and you 
and I will have a game of billiards. You are a 
crack player, I know.” 

“ All right,” agreed Ethel, as she went back 
to the drawing-room. 

The moment she had disappeared, Oswin, 


ii8 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

who had •watched her with furtive disgust, 
came down to his host, and indignantly mim- 
icked the lady’s tone. 

“ We don’t mind smoke — when there’s no 
fire ! ” echoed he. “ It isn’t smart, you know, 
it’s simply silly. And billiards ! I hate a 
woman who plays billiards without cutting the 
cloth ! ” 

Martin laughed good-humoredly. 

“ That’s not the view of the owner of the 
table, though,” said he. “ Have a game ? ” 

He was strolling towards the billiard-table, 
having taken up a cue, when voices outside 
the room, in angry altercation, struck upon 
their ears. The first words that they could 
make out were in the voice of Prickett, the 
butler. 

“ It’s my place to take letters in, not yours,” 
he was saying peremptorily. 

The rough voice of Luke, the Scamp, was 
heard in reply, — 

“ It’ll be your place to lie on yer back on 
the carpet, ye ould fool, if ye don’t let me 
pass.” 

Martin looked at Oswin, smiling. 

“ There are always rows betw^een those two,” 
said he. And then he went up to the door, 
adding, “ Now for some fun. Plallo, what’s 
the matter ? ” he asked, as he threw open the 
door. 


Luke, the Scamp. 119 

Luke, the Scamp, now in his best clothes, 
looking fairly neat and remarkably handsome, 
immediately pushed his way into the apart- 
ment, and saluted his master, 

“ Shure, sor-r, it’s me cornin’ to give you 
this note,” he answered, as he thrust a letter 
into Martin’s hand. “ It was brought just now 
by Mr, Power’s servant, sor-r, and as I was 
standin’ at the gate, I took it from him. And 
yer honor’s ould fool of a Saxon butler wanted 
to stop me from bringing it in.” 

Prickett, less impudent but more assured of 
his own importance than Luke, had followed 
the Scamp into the room, but was still stand- 
ing by the door, wearing an expression of dig- 
nified certainty that he would get the best of it 
in the explanation which had to follow. 

Martin saw that he must soothe the old 
servant’s ruffled dignity. 

“ Well, I believe the bringing in of the letters 
is part of his prerogative, Luke,” said he. 

Luke gave a sort of snort. 

“ Shure, it’ll be another part of it to get his 
head punched, if he thries to prevent me see- 
in’ yer honor, when I’ve anything to tell yer 
honor,” said he, with pursed lips. 

His master opened the note and was glanc- 
ing at its contents. 

“ Something to tell me, eh ? Well, what is 
it ?” 


120 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

But Luke, whatever the value of his intelli- 
gence might be, did not mean to cheapen it 
by blurting it out in cold blood before wit- 
nesses. He glanced respectfully at Oswin, 
and coughed disdainfully at Prickett, and 
snorted, 

Oswin, much amused, threw down the cue 
he had been playing with, and strolled in the 
direction of the drawing-room. 

“ If our friend has any confidential commu- 
nication to make,” said he, “ I’ll sacrifice myself 
on the altar of necessity, and go — into the 
drawing-room.” 

He had hardly got outside the door when 
Martin, having read to the end of his letter, 
turned to call after him, — 

“ Oh, I say, Oswin, would you tell my 
mother I’ve had a note from Power— Gerald 
Power. He’s just back from Dublin, and he 
wants to know if he may come round this 
evening and bring a friend. And if the ladies 
will excuse their coming in the rough, in their 
travelling clothes.” 

Oswin came back a step to receive the mes- 
sage. 

“ All right. Who’s the friend ? They’re 
sure to ask.” 

Martin glanced again at the letter. 

“ Man named Hendon. Nobody we know.” 

Oswin nodded. 


I2I 


Luke, the Scamp. 

“ All right,” said he. “Their ignorance will 
stimulate their curiosity — especially Mrs. Jes- 
mond-Cray’s, though of course there’s no hope 
that he’ll be labeled with the amount of his 
income.” 

These words were added to himself as he 
approached the drawing-room door. 

As he expected, Oswin’s brief anouncement, 
with its absence of details, excited great interest 
in the drawing-room. He was beset with ques- 
tions. If he could tell them nothing about 
Mr. Hendon, at least he could furnish some 
information concerning Gerald Power. 

“ He’s one of Martin’s cronies, I know,” said 
old Mrs. Laffan. 

“ And one of the best fellows in the county,” 
added Sir Michael, with warmth. “ All the 
same. Miss Gladys,” he added in alow voice to 
the pretty young girl, from whose side Mrs. 
Cray found it hard to keep him away, “ I’d just 
as soon he’d stayed away in Dublin a while 
longer, for I don’t want your attention dis- 
tracted by too many admirers.” 

“ How do you know he would be an admirer 
of mine ? ” asked Gladys, with evident childish 
delight at the simple compliment she felt to 
be forthcoming. 

“ Sure, don’t I know he has a pair of eyes in 
his head, and there’s nothing more needed to 
make a man an admirer of yours. Miss Gladys, 


122 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

barrin’ it’s a pair of ears for him to listen to 
the sweetest voice in the world.” 

Gladys giggled with delight ; Mrs. Jesmond- 
Cray moved nervously in her chair ; Ethel, who 
had, perhaps by design, got between her sister 
and her mother, turned the conversation to the 
second expected guest. 

“ And does any one know anything about 
Hendon ? ” 

There was silence until Mrs. Laffan repeated 
the question, when Oswin said, — - 

“ Hendon is simply — Hendon. Martin 
knows no more. Power himself says no more. 
Round Hendon, therefore, you are free to 
weave your choicest garlands of imagination. 
Hendon is coming with Power, and neither 
will be in the garb of civilization, for which 
state of things Gerald Power, I am told, offers 
his apologies to the ladies.” 

“We’ll excuse them,” said old Mrs. Laffan. 
“ It’s only you fine London gentlemen that 
we expect to see in white shirt-fronts, ye know. 
Smith,” said Sir Michael. “ And my own 
savage attire has prepared the ladies for any 
vagaries of costume, short of tomahawks and 
skins, hasn’t it, Mrs. Cray ? ” 

Gladys looked rather frightened when he 
thus challenged her mother, and more alarmed 
still when she heard that lady’s icy reply, — 

“ Oh, yes, certainly. These things are 


123 


Luke, the Scamp. 

expected in the wilds. And they will be 
amusing to look back upon when we get back 
to civilization again.” 

At this speech poor little Gladys grew sud- 
denly pale, while Sir Michael grew red. It 
was Ethel who came to the rescue. 

“ We don’t care how they’re dressed, as long 
as they’re nice,” said she. “ Let us have good 
humor and good breeding in a smock-frock, 
rather than Bond Street hats and Queer Street 
manners.” 

“ That’s one for you. Smith,” croaked 
Beckingham, in a whisper which he inten- 
tionally made audible all over the room. 

“ I’m sure,” said Oswin, blandly, “ I hope 
Miss Cray will find her ideal of masculine per- 
fection in one or other, if not both, of the 
newcomers. Let me see — the chief requisite, 
I imagine, will be a power to sit still and 
smile and look pleasant under the most 
galling insults.” 

“I only wish, for your sake, Mr. Smith,” 
retorted Ethel, in that quiet, distinct voice 
which made her every word tell so well, “ that 
your ideal could be as easily found. But she 
would have to be an angel so perfect that my 
fear is she might find even Mr. Smith too 
terrestrial.” 

Mrs. Laffan, who saw that the war threatened 
to rage hotly, hastened to put in a word. 


124 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

“ Does anybody know what’s become of 
Monica?” asked she. “ I sent her to the bil- 
liard-room half an hour ago, charged with a mes- 
sage to Martin, and she’s never come back.” 

“ Let’s go and see whether Mr. Laffan has 
eaten her up,” suggested Ethel, going towards 
the door. 

“ I’m sure he’ll be delighted to see you. 
Miss Cray,” Oswin was not displeased to 
have an opportunity of saying ; “ but if it were 
any one else I should suggest a few moments’ 
delay, as Mr. Laffan is engaged, and I had to 
leave the room myself in consequence.” 

“ Engaged ! ” echoed Mrs. Laffan, in surprise. 
“ At this time in the evening. Are you sure ? ” 

“ Oh, it’s only with the gentleman called 
Luke,” replied Oswin. “ It was he who brought 
in the note from Power, and he has probably 
profited by the trifling occasion to make some 
appeal to Martin’s good nature.” 

Mrs. Laffan sat down again. 

“ I’ll go back in a few moments,” added 
Oswin, “ and see whether the young man’s 
taken himself off.” 

In the meantime, Martin, in the study, was 
finding the interview begged by Luke more ex- 
citing than he had expected. As soon as they 
were alone, he turned to the Scamp with his 
usual good-humored smile. 

“And now, Luke, what’s the news ?” 


Luke, the Scamp. 125 

The Scamp looked cautiously round him, 
being careful to step back also, to make sure 
that both doors were securely closed. Then 
he approached his master, and putting his 
hand to his mouth, as if to prevent his words 
from traveling except in the direction of the 
one pair of ears for which they were intended, 
he said, in a deep-voiced whisper, — 

“ Why, sor-r, here’s another letter the man 
gave me at the same time.” 

And with that he produced from his pocket 
a second letter, which he handed to Martin 
with a great air of mystery. 

“ But this,” said Martin, reading the name 
written on the envelope with a puzzled frown, 
“ is not for me. It’s directed to Mrs. Martin 
Laffan.” 

“Yes, sor-r,” said Luke, with an air of 
triumph, “ and I was told to give it her my- 
self, when there was nobody by.” 

A spasm of fear and pain crossed Martin 
Laffan’s face. He had already turned so that 
Luke could not see his features, and now, still 
further to mask his agitation, he sauntered to- 
wards the fireplace. 

“ Then, why didn’t you ? ” he asked quietly. 

Luke cleared his throat. 

“ Well, sor-r, they say ‘ do as you’d be 
done by,’ ” said he, sturdily. “ And sure I 
wouldn’t choose, if I was a married man, for 


126 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

my wife to have letters given her when there 
was nobody by. But, shure, I’ll be afther 
giving her as many as you please, since you’ve 
no objection, sor-r.” 

And he took a brisk step forward, and held 
out his hand for the letter. 

Martin tried to laugh. 

“ I'll give it to her,” said he, in a voice which 
was fairly steady, though he had to speak with 
great deliberation. “ I don’t wonder Prickett 
disapproves of you, Luke. You’re a cheeky 
beggar. Now you can go.” 

And he glanced at the door. 

But Luke still stood his ground. 

“ Wait a bit, sor-r,” said he, “ I’ve some- 
thing else to tell ye.” And again he followed 
his master up, with confident assurance. 
“ Shure, yer honor,” he said in a thick whisper, 
when he had come quite close, “ Derrick 
O’Hara’s back in the counthry again ! ” 

Prepared as Martin ought to have been, he 
could not repress an exclamation. And he 
glanced involuntarily at the note in his hand. 

“ What ! ” said he, hoarsely. 

“ Sor-r, it’s sure of it I am,” said Luke. 
“He’s been seen by a man that knows him 
well. I was only tould of it this evening, but 
it’s as thrue as gospel, I can swear. And I’d 
like to be afther knowing, if ye please, sor-r, 
whether you’re still in the mind to hang him 


127 


Luke, the Scamp. 

for shooting the captain,” persisted the Scamp, 
while an angry look came into his eyes, and 
the veins in his dark forehead swelled. “ If 
so, sor-r,” he went on solemnly, “ why. I’m 
satisfied. But if you’re afther wiping out old 
scores,” he went on, clenching his hands, and 
involuntarily showing the gleam of his white 
teeth in his excitement, “ shure, sor-r, it’s me- 
self must settle wid him about my brother’s 
roan mare.” 

Martin Laffan looked at him curiously. The 
man’s anger was as genuine, nay, as deep, 
against the fellow who had stolen his brother’s 
mare as was that of his master against the crim. 
inal who had shot Captain Malcolm, and sac- 
rificed his own wife to the needs of his shame- 
ful existence. 

He looked the Scamp full in the eyes, and 
in his own face there was a steadfast determin- 
ation which there was no mistaking. 

“ You may leave him to me, Luke,” he said 
gravely. “ Leave him to me.” 

Much impressed by his master’s look and 
tone, Luke paused for one instant, as if to 
gather in the full significance of Martin’s ex- 
pression and of his solemn words. Then he 
saluted respectfully, and saying simply, “ Right, 
sor-r, and I thank yer honor,” he left the room 
without further delay. 


128 


The Plain Miss Cray. 


. CHAPTER X. 

A WARNING NOTE. 

OswiN had timed his return well, for just as 
he left the drawing-room, and began to stroll 
in a leisurely manner towards the billiard-room, 
Martin threw open the door of the latter apart- 
ment, and they went back together to invite 
the ladies to a game. 

Mrs. Cray and her daughters and Mrs. Laf- 
fan at once accepted the invitation, and Sir 
Michael followed them, leaving only Becking- 
ham to sulk by himself in the room they had 
left. 

“ Oh, Mr. Smith, do teach Gladys to play 
billiards,” cried Mrs. Cray. “ She’s dying to 
learn.” 

“ Awfully sorry, Mrs. Cray,” replied Oswin, 
“ but I’m too bad a player myself to teach 
Miss Gladys. Ask Miss Cray.” And he 
looked viciously at Ethel. “ Now, she can 
teach anybody anything.” 

But Mrs. Cray persisted. 

“ Oh, but I always think a man teaches so 
much better than a woman ! ” 


129 


A Warning Note. 

Sir Michael, cue in hand, now came up. 

“I’ll be very happy to teach Miss Gladys,” 
said he, “ if she’ll allow me.” 

“ Oh, yes, I know you play beautifully,” cried 
Gladys, eagerly. “Mr. Laffan says you’re the 
best player about here.” 

“ Then he’d never have patience with you, 
my love,” said Mrs. Cray, serenely, as, by an 
adroit movement, she got between these two 
and forced Gladys to take a few steps in the 
direction of Martin. “ Mr. Laffan, since the 
dear girl’s so anxious to learn, you’ll give her 
a game. I’m sure.” 

“ Delighted,” said Martin, with a sly grimace 
at Sir Michael, who still hung about in the 
neighborhood of the pretty young girl. 
“ Never mind,” he added consolingly to Sir 
Michael, in a low voice, as Mrs. Cray sailed 
away to the sofa, “ you shall have a look in 
presently.” 

“ Oh, if those kings were alive and at my 
back now ! ” muttered Sir Michael, half angry, 
half amused. 

If Mrs. Cray thought that she had warded 
off all danger for the present from the ineligi- 
ble Sir Michael, the poor lady was mistaken. 
But there was nothing for her to do but to 
watch anxiously from the sofa, while the 
farmer-baronet assiduously helped Martin to 
teach Gladys how to hold her cue. Indeed, 
9 


130 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

Martin did his best, by nods and winks and 
whispers, to keep Sir Michael away and thus 
to lessen the watchful mother’s anxiety. But 
Sir Michael would neither hear whispers nor 
see nods ; and Gladys, poor little soul, though 
she looked rather frightened, gave him more 
encouragement than she ought to have done 
with her pretty, shy glances. 

Ethel seated herself in the reading-chair, and 
glanced through the pages of a magazine. 

“ Where’s Monica ? ” asked old Mrs. Laffan 
from the sofa where she had taken a seat be- 
side Mrs. Cray. “ I’m getting so fond of her 
that I miss her if she goes out of the room.”- 

“ Ah, that’s just as I feel ! ” cried Mrs. Cray. 
“ What shall I do when my Gladys is mar- 
ried ? ” 

“ But it’s Ethel’s turn first, isn’t it ? ” asked 
Mrs. Laffan. 

Mrs. Cray began her answer in a very cross 
tone, and then recollected herself somewhat 
abruptly. 

“ Oh, I’ve lost all hope of — I mean I’ve no 
fear of Ethel’s marrying.” She added in a 
lower tone, very snappishly : “ I shall be satis- 
fied if she doesn’t spoil her sister’s chances by 
that uncontrollable tongue of hers.” 

Mrs. Laffan, though it was impossible for 
her not to see through the wiles of the match- 
making mother, was not without interest her- 


A Warning Note. 13 1 

self in the game of cross-purposes which was 
being played out under her eyes. She, there- 
fore, good-naturedly set about soothing and 
consoling Mrs. Cray, who listened and an- 
swered with half a mind, the other half being 
occupied all the time with her daughters and 
their movements. 

Oswin had been standing by the mantelpiece 
rolling a cigarette, and he now came down to 
the ladies on the sofa. 

“ Have we your permission ? ” As they 
smiled and nodded acquiescence, he passed 
them, strolling in the direction of the enemy 
in the reading-chair. “ Miss Cray,” he began, 
“ I was sitting in that seat just now — ” 

Ethel bounced out of the chair, and stood a 
few feet away from it, with the magazine still 
in her hand. 

“ Your chair ! ” cried she, purposely misun- 
derstanding him. “ Don’t mention it ! I’ll 
stand.” 

“ Now, do you suppose I was asking you 
to stand ? ” asked Oswin, with an air of fierce 
irritation. 

Ethel raised her eyebrows innocently. 

“ Why not ? Such a request seems quite 
natural from the modern young man.” 

“ The modern young man ! ” cried Oswin, 
irritably. “ Pray, what do you know of the 
ancient young man ? ” 


132 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

“Well,” retorted Ethel, with leisurely pre- 
ciseness, “judging from your frequent refer- 
ences to my long experience and ripe judg- 
ment, the ancient young man must have been 
in his prime when I was in mine.” 

Oswin took an impatient step away. 

Mrs. Cray whispered to Mrs. Laffan, in deep 
distress, — 

“ Now, do you hear how Ethel’s exasper- 
ating Mr. Smith ? So selfish of her. He’ll 
think Gladys is just the same.” 

But when he had walked a few steps away, 
Oswin turned and came back to the charge. 

“ I certainly never meant to suggest that 
you— that you — were old. Miss Cray.” 

“ Oh, yes, you did. And you’re quite right. 
I am. I’m eight-and-twenty, at least, and I 
don’t try to look less,” said Ethel. 

Mrs. Cray’s anxiety was becoming piteous. 

“ Telling him her age now ! ” she whispered 
in despair to the sympathetic Mrs. Laffan. 
“ Just the thing she ought to avoid for her 
sister’s sake.” And she turned to her daugh- 
ter with a forced smile. “ My dear Ethel, 
don’t make us all out to be quite antediluvian ! 
And you must remember there are years and 
years between you and Gladys. Years and 
years, Mr. Smith.” 

“ I’ve no doubt of it, Mrs. Cray,” replied 
Oswin, irritated afresh by this interruption. 


A Warning Note. 133 

and not quite understanding the meaning 
which would be put upon his words until 
Ethel began to laugh. “ I mean — I mean — ” 
he began to correct himself, and then stopped 
angrily. 

Mrs. Laffan rose from the sofa. 

“ Suppose we go and look for Monica, and 
get her to play us something,” she suggested. 
Then, as Mrs. Cray reluctantly left her seat, 
she said in her ear, “ Leave her alone, she’ll do 
Gladys no harm.” 

More in despair than in hope, however, Mrs. 
Cray allowed herself to be persuaded to go 
back to the drawing-room. 

Oswin, with a frown on his face, turned, after 
an uncomfortable silence, again to Ethel. 

“ Do pray sit down,” said he, impatiently. 
“ I only wanted to ask whether I’d left my 
match-box in the chair.” 

Ethel, after a perfunctory glance as if in 
search, sat down again in the reading-chair, 
and threw back her head. 

“ I like this chair,” said she. “ There’s a 
cosy feeling of middle-aged comfort about it.” 

Oswin made an angry gesture. 

“ Oh, Mrs. Cray confused me,” said he, with 
impatience. “ I didn’t mean to say what I 
did.” 

“ Don’t apologize,” said she, simply, “ I’m 
dated. Nobody’s called Ethel now. I was 


134 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

born at the fag end — the fag end, please, of the 
‘ Maude and Ethel ’ period. We’ve been 
pushed out by the Gladyses and Barbaras, the 
Phyllises and the Dorothies. We are now 
historical monuments merely, and are reck- 
oned as belonging to the Glacial Epoch.” 

She uttered these words very deliberately, 
with her eyes closed, and with a look of con- 
tented enjoyment on her face. She seemed to 
feel that the click click of the billiard balls, the 
light-hearted laughter of Gladys at her own 
clumsiness, and the encouraging ‘ bravos ’ from 
Martin and Sir Michael, made a stimulating 
accompaniment to her thoughts. 

“ You are very honest,” said Oswin, rather 
taken aback. 

Ethel suddenly opened her eyes and looked 
at him. 

“No, very audacious. It’s a great relief, 
after a long course of hypocritical civility to 
people who have been hypocritically civil to 
you, to meet a person so frankly rude that you 
can be rude back.” 

“ I’ve never been intentionally rude,” said 
Oswin, stiffly. 

Ethel shrugged her shoulders slightly, and 
still looked at him. 

“ And your sneers at old-young ladies, match- 
making mothers, well-connected poverty, have 
been accidental ? I think not, Mr. Smith. Of 


A Warning Note. 135 

course, it’s very ridiculous to be past one’s 
first freshness, and so it is to want to get a 
husband for one’s pretty daughter, and to have 
to make a great show on a small income. But 
I think some men would see a pathetic side to 
it all too.” 

There was a pause. Oswin also felt the 
piquancy of this curious wrangle to the click 
of the balls. 

“Now, I’m sure,” he said presently, in a 
plaintive tone, “ people would see a pathetic 
side to the picture of a young man of Christian 
education and good principles struggling to 
hold his own with a young woman, who used 
the excuse of her sex for riding rough-shod 
over him and his feelings on every possible 
occasion.” 

“ Poor Mr. Smith ! I’m so sorry for you,” 
cried Ethel, mockingly. 

“ I wouldn’t put up with your rudeness if you 
were a man,” cried Oswin, angrily. 

“ Well,” retorted she, “ and if you were a 
woman, I wouldn’t put up with yours.” 

And she left her chair and went towards the 
billiard-table. 

Martin came down, cue in hand, to Oswin, 
who was left alone. 

“ Scrapping match over ? ” he asked in a 
low voice, as he chalked his cue. “Who 
licked ? ” 


136 The Plain Miss Cray. 

Oswin growled. 

“ I wish I were a navvy, and that woman 
were my wife, so that I could put on a pair of 
hobnailed boots and kick her.” 

Martin shook his head slowly. 

“ Beware, my boy, of strong emotion about 
a woman.” 

“ Emotion ! ” cried Oswin, scornfully. 

“ Yes. Remember, it isn’t the sort of emo- 
tion that matters, it’s the strength of it.” Mar- 
tin went back to the table. “ And now. Miss 
Gladys, for that cannon.” 

He was putting her hand right, and perhaps 
taking a malicious pleasure in prolonging the 
operation, on account of the longing he saw in 
Sir Michael’s eyes, when the door opened, and 
Monica came in. 

It was strange what a difference there was 
in Monica since that last interview she had had 
with Martin. Instead of being reserved, cold, 
timid, as she had been with him before, she 
now stood watching him with the fire of jealous 
passion in her big brown eyes, as he arranged 
the pretty little fingers of Gladys into a proper 
bridge for the cue. 

It was not until he had finished this task, and 
stepped back from the table, that he saw who 
had come in. He started a little, and his face 
flushed with emotion. As soon as she saw 
that he had noticed her, she turned away in 


A Warning Note. 137 

an offended manner, and went towards the 
door which led to the drawing-room. 

Martin went after her. 

“Where have you been hiding so long?’’ 
asked he. And there was in his voice a 
strange echo of the passion which had thrilled 
in his veins during that memorable interview. 
“ My mother has been inquiring for you.” 

Quite a new Monica it was, proud, cold, 
dignified, who answered curtly, with a raising 
of the eyebrows, — 

“ Mrs. Laffan ! Oh, I will go to her, then. 
She’s in the drawing-room, I suppose ? ” 

Martin, forgetting his game, followed her 
quickly. 

“What’s the matter?” said he, in a low 
voice. 

“ Nothing,” said Monica, loftily. “ Don’t let 
me interrupt your game with Gladys.” 

“ She won’t miss me while O’Keefe’s about,” 
said Martin. “They’re playing their own 
game. I’m only gooseberry, you know. A 
woman uses me,” he went on, in a lower 
-voice, “ just to bring the other one back.” 

Monica looked at him with agony in her 
eyes. Ethel and Oswin were squabbling 
again half-way down the room, the man’s 
angry tones, and the girl’s deliberate utter- 
ances coming sharply on their ears, as they 
stood facing each other near the door. Sir 


138 The Plain Miss Cray. 

Michael and Gladys had forgotten everything 
but each other. With four people in the 
room with them, Monica and Martin could 
feel perfectly at ease to speak their minds. 

“ If you knew what I’m suffering,” said 
Monica, at last, brokenly, “you’d be too gen- 
erous to say that.” 

“ Ah ! ” said Martin, shortly. “ I feel — noth- 
ing. A man’s privilege, you know.” 

His tone cut her to the heart. They looked 
each in the other’s face. 

“ I would give the world,” almost sobbed 
Monica, “ for that to be true.” 

“ I wouldn’t,” said Martin. And, low as he 
kept his voice, every word rang in her heart 
and brain. “ There’s a torture, which is the 
next best thing to happiness. While I can 
feel the pain. I’m alive. When I’m once off 
the rack — and I count the time by hours now 
— I shall be past all feeling — forever. The 
body of Martin Laffan will live for years. I’ve 
no doubt. But when you go, you’ll take his 
heart, his soul, the fire of his spirit and the joy 
of his eyes away with you.” 

“ I’ll not go ! ” hissed out Monica, impul- 
sively. 

“ You must,” cried Martin, with the assump- 
tion of a careless laugh. “ I — I — have some- 
thing for you. A letter — a note ! ” 

Monica’s eyes lost their light. 


139 


A Warning Note. 

“ A letter ! She paused. “ Where is it ? ” 

Martin took the letter out of his pocket, and 
gave it to her without a word. At the sight 
of the handwriting on the envelope her face 
changed ; she glanced at Martin, who was 
looking away from her, then turned her back 
to him and opened the note slowly. 

These were the words she read : — 

“ Be prepared to see me, but don’t recognize 
me. — D.” 

She staggered back a step, uttered a little 
moan, and crushed up the note in her fingers. 

Martin caught her in his arms, with a 
smothered word of burning love. 


140 


The Plain Miss Cray. 


CHAPTER XI. 

A FRIEND. 

Monica shivered as she felt Martin’s touch, 
but she made no resistance as he led her down 
to the sofa, and gently placed her upon it. 
She was broken down, but not unconscious ; 
and a moment later, on raising her head, she 
perceived that Ethel had run towards her with 
an anxious face, and that Gladys, Oswin and 
Sir Michael, though they hesitated to obtrude 
themselves, by coming very near, were all 
looking in her direction, with faces full of con- 
cern. 

Monica at once tried to stand up, and to 
laugh at their solicitude. But Martin re- 
strained her with a kind but firm touch, forc- 
ing her to remain seated. She, however, 
tried to repulse him, giving him one glance 
which made his heart leap up, though what 
that expression meant that he saw in her great 
soft eyes he would have been puzzled to say. 

Was it love ? He dared hardly tell himself 
it was that. Was it dread of him, fear of him, 
distaste? No, most certainly it was not. 


A Friend. 


141 

He stepped back from the sofa, and turned 
to Ethel, who was close by, and who was only 
waiting for permission to come forward. 

“ You go to her,” said he, in a low voice. 

Oswin, glancing at his friend’s face, turned 
away to Sir Michael, and intimated to him that 
they had better go on with their game, or at 
least make a pretense of doing so. These 
three, therefore, went back to the billiard-table, 
leaving the small group about the sofa to 
themselves. 

Monica, though she did not again attempt to 
rise, was still trying to make light of their 
anxiety. ^ 

“ It’s very kind of you,” said she, not know- 
ing how the hoarse trembling of her voice be- 
trayed her, “ to make such a fuss. But I 
don’t really know why you do it. There’s 
nothing the matter with me, nothing what- 
ever. I— I — ” 

She broke off with a sort of choking sound 
in her voice, and Ethel went promptly down 
on her knees beside her, just as Monica’s right 
hand fell limply down at her side. 

And out of the nerveless hand dropped the 
crumpled note, falling on the carpet at their 
feet. 

Quick as thought, Martin had seen the letter, 
and stooped to pick it up. Quicker even than 
he, however, Ethel pounced upon the crum- 


142 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

pled bit of paper, and secured it, almost snatch- 
ing it out of his hand. 

She glanced up quickly, flushed and defiant, 
but trying to laugh apologetically too. 

“ Surely I have the right,” said Martin, 
stiffly. 

‘‘ To receive it from her, yes. But not from 
me ! ” retorted Ethel, quickly. 

And, at once hiding the letter in the folds 
of her dress, she turned again to Monica, who 
was leaning against the side of the sofa, with 
her eyes half-closed, apparently unconscious 
by this time of what was passing around her. 

Martin turned away angrily, and suddenly 
came face to face with Oswin, who had come 
down a little way from the billiard-table and 
was looking at Ethel with an expression on 
his face which closely resembled admiration. 
Martin, however, did not perceive this, and 
took it for granted that, in any grievance 
against the elder Miss Cray, he should find a 
sympathizer in Oswin. 

“ Did you see that ?” said he, with irritation. 
“ Cool, wasn’t it ? ” 

“Well, do you know,” replied Oswin, in a 
voice as low as his own, while Ethel was gently 
laying Monica’s head against the sofa cushion, 
and fanning her with a palm leaf screen, “ I — 
I rather like her cheek — to you ! One woman 
standing by another ! It’s— it’s rather fine, you 


A Friend. 


143 


know ! Fancy,” he added, rubbing his head 
in some irritation, “fancy that beastly girl hav- 
ing a spark of decent feeling in her, after all ! ” 

Martin stared at him, but said nothing, and 
turned again to look yearningly at Monica. 
Ethel's voice, speaking imperiously, roused 
him to definite action. 

“ Throw back the window-curtains, some- 
body, please, and just leave her to herself for 
a little while. It’s only the heat of the room 
that has made her feel a little faint.” 

While Martin hastened to open the window 
and Sir Michael pulled back the curtains for 
him, Oswin and Gladys retreated to the door 
which led towards the drawing-room. As he 
went out, Oswin exchanged looks with Sir 
Michael, who had by this time joined him. 

“ Good old heat of the room ! ” murmured 
he, softly, as he went out. 

When they had all gone, Martin still lin- 
gered. He was afraid of that imperious girl 
who held guard over Monica, afraid of Monica 
herself, afraid, most of all, of the secret that 
lay hidden in that crumpled bit of paper in 
Ethel’s dress. 

Ethel whispered in Monica’s ear, — 

“ Shall I go ? Or shall I send him away?” 

Monica opened her eyes, and a spasm of 
piteous pain convulsed her face as she whis- 
pered back, — 


144 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

“ Stay with me, you stay. And — send him 
away.” 

Her voice was low and wailing on the last 
words. 

Ethel looked round and made a little gesture, 
begging Martin mutely to leave her with his wife. 
But he still lingered, and she had to repeat it. 

“ Shall I send my mother ? ” he asked, with 
the diffident hesitancy of a schoolboy, as he 
went with slow steps across the room. 

“No,” answered Ethel, promptly, “don’t 
send anybody. Come back in ten minutes, 
and she’ll be all right.” As he still lingered, 
frowning and reluctant to go, she sprang up 
from her knees and went to him. “ Don’t be 
angry with me for my impudence,” entreated 
she, with the frankness, half serious, half laugh- 
ing, which the men who liked her found so 
charming. “ If there’s anything for you to 
learn, yoxx’d rather learn it from the lips of 
your wife, the woman who loves you, wouldn’t 
you, than from a bit of paper ? ” 

Martin trembled. 

“ Loves me ! ” repeated he, hoarsely. 

Ethel answered with a confident smile, — 

“You don’t doubt that, surely ! ” 

For a moment Martin stared in front of him, 
not at her, with an odd look of which it would 
have been difficult to say whether it expressed 
joy or grief, pleasure or pain. 


A Friend. 


145 


“ If she does, poor girl,” said he, at last, in 
a low voice, “there’ll be the devil to pay ! ” 

Apparently aroused by his voice, Monica 
suddenly raised her head from the sofa cush- 
ion, and looked round. Ethel gently led Mar- 
tin towards the door. 

“ Go and make a bargain with him, then ! ” 
said she, half playfully, half earnestly, as he 
yielded himself to her guidance. 

On the threshold he said to her with feel- 
ing,— 

“ You’re a good creature. Take care of her 
— and God bless you ! ” 

The moment the door had closed upon him 
Ethel ran back to the sofa. Monica, who had 
been sitting like one stricken with paralysis, 
raised her head and looked up. 

“ Well, and how do you feel now ? ” 

The direct question roused the crushed 
woman effectually. Suddenly staggering to 
her feet, with a helpless look on her face, she 
began to stammer out, “ I — I — ” Then, break- 
ing off suddenly, she began to cry. 

Ethel put her arm round her, made her sit 
beside her on the sofa, and said gently, — 

“ Rest a little, dear.” 

“ I don’t want to rest ; I want to die ! ” cried 
Monica, passionately. 

“ Ah, but we never can, you know, till we’ve 
given up wanting to ! ” 

10 


146 The Plain Miss Cray. 

Monica suddenly turned to her friend, and 
made an attempt to detach herself from her 
comforting arm. 

“ Ethel, if you knew all about me, you 
wouldn’t come near me. I’m a wicked 
woman ! ” 

“We most of us are, dear, when we get 
the chance,” replied Ethel, imperturbably. 
“ Never mind about that now.” 

“ But you don’t believe me ?’’ 

“Yes, I do, dear. Aren’t we all miserable 
sinners ? ” 

Monica put out her right arm stiffly, and 
held Ethel off, looking into her face with eyes 
that burned with passionate remorse, through 
her tears. 

“ But not all foolish, selfish impostors, un- 
worthy to look an honest man or woman in the 
face. That’s what I am, Ethel, a creature not 
worth a thought of any good man. And I’ve 
spoilt the lives of two, of two men a thousand 
times better than I am ; I’ve brought danger 
to the one, and wretchedness to the other ! Do 
you believe me now ? ” 

Ethel answered very tranquilly, — 

“Well, dear, it is creatures not worth a 
thought that men think about most, I under- 
stand. But I don’t quite believe you’re one of 
those creatures, for all that.” 

“I am, Ethel, lam,” said Monica, piteously ; 


A Friend. 


147 


“ it’s not that I wish to do any harm, but that 
I drift into things ; I let myself be persuaded, 
without thinking what it will lead to. If only 
I were clever, like you ! it would be very dif- 
ferent, wouldn’t it ? ” 

Ethel looked thoughtfully before her for a 
moment, before she answered. 

“ Well, it would be different in this, that you 
might foresee the consequences of your acts. 
But — you’d commit the acts just the same.” 

Monica stared at her with wide eyes. 

“ But haven’t you clever people any con- 
science ? ” 

Ethel gave her a droll look, and answered 
dryly,— 

“ No, dear. It’s the one compensation 
given us for having to bear the blame of all 
the mistakes and all the failures of the 
world.” 

“ It’s true Martin hasn’t blamed me as much 
as I deserve,” said Monica, softly. And then 
she bent her head and plucked nervously at 
her frock, her breath coming quickly. It was 
evident that she was burning to make a con- 
fession, but that some doubt, some fear still 
held her back. “ Look, Ethel,” she said at 
last. “ What would you do if— if you married 
a man, a splendid man, better than you had 
ever thought it possible for a man to be — ” 

More to herself than to Monica, Ethel, who 


148 The Plain Miss Cray. 

was still on the floor beside the sofa, mur- 
mured, “Martin!” 

Monica, whose hand was by this time on 
Ethel’s shoulder, tightened her grip. 

“ And — and — if there presently came to — to 
look for you another man whom — whom you’d 
married years before ” — Ethel started up to her 
feet, and looked down in consternation at the 
unhappy woman — “ but whom you had never 
expected to see again ! ” 

“Monica! Is it true?” 

Monica clasped her hands together and 
wrung them fiercely. Her face was white and 
drawn, her lips were almost gray. Haggard 
and miserable, she looked ten years older than 
she had done, in her fresh brunette loveliness, 
at dinner that evening. 

“ Yes, yes, it’s quite true,” she went on 
hurriedly. “ I’m not Martin’s wife at all, in 
name or anything else ; I’m nothing but a 
dressed-up impostor kept here for show, to 
stave off the scandal till you’ve all gone away.” 

“ Does Martin know, then ? ” asked Ethel, 
appalled. 

“ Yes. Pie knows everything, but — but the 
worst ! ” 

“ Worst ! ” echoed Ethel. “ Is there any- 
thing worse ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Monica, and she began to search 
in her pocket and on the sofa for something. 


A Friend. 


149 


“Is this what you’re looking for?” asked 
Ethel, taking from her own dress the crumpled 
note which had fallen from the other’s hand. 

“ Yes, oh, yes. Read it.” 

Ethel smoothed out the paper and read the 
note, with a puzzled frowm. 

“I see,” she said at last, when she had read 
every word three or four times over. “And 
so the scandal can’t be staved off any longer. 
This man believes you to be living as Martin 
Laffan’s wife ? ” 

Monica’s face flushed suddenly, and became 
wrinkled with puckers indicative of acute dis- 
tress. 

“ I suppose so,” faltered she. 

Again Ethel scanned attentively the word- 
ing of the note. 

“Yet he says, ‘ Don’t recognize me.’ He 
doesn’t want a scandal, then ? ” 

“No, he’s too generous,” cried Monica. “He 
knows the difficulties I was placed in.” 

“And those he was placed in himself, per- 
haps,” suggested Ethel, dryly. “You think 
he’ll be ready to leave you alone ? ” she asked 
sharply. 

Monica looked astonished at the sugges- 
tion. 

“ Why, no, he’ll want me back, of course, 
when he learns that, through Martin’s gener- 
osity, I’m his wife still.” 


i5o The Plain Miss Cray. 

“ And you’re ready to go back ? ” asked 
Ethel, more dryly than ever. 

Monica burst out crying. 

“ Why, yes, of course, of course I am ; I 
love my husband. But then Martin ! Oh, 
Ethel, what would you do ? ” 

Ethel folded her arms and looked down. 

“ It would depend which one I liked best,” 
said she. 

Monica rose from the sofa in a furtive man- 
ner, and brought her lips close to Ethel’s ear. 

“ If — if — ” her voice dropped lower, as she 
looked round her in guilty fashion, “ if it 
were the second ? ” 

Ethel’s answer was deliberate and decided. 

“ I should snap my fingers in the face of the 
first, and tell him he ought to have looked 
after me better.” 

Monica looked scared. 

“ Ethel, Ethel, you don’t mean what you 
say ! ” 

Ethel shrugged her shoulders. 

“ I do mean it,” she replied, “ as much as 
one ever means the advice one gives.” 

“ You know I ought to go ! ” wailed Monica. 

There was a short pause. Ethel walked 
away, deep in thought, and then came back 
again. Raising her head, and looking gravely 
and steadily into Monica’s eyes, she spoke out 
simply and straightforwardly, — 


A Friend. 


151 

“ I’ll tell you this. If you stay here, it will 
be best for you. If you go away, it will be 
best for Martin.” 

At that Monica began to sob as if her heart 
would break. 

“ And you don’t think — ^you don’t think it 
would br — br — br — break his heart, as he says ?” 

“ I think even then, dear,” answered Ethel, 
very gravely, as she caressed the unhappy 
woman, “ that it would be best for him.” 

“You’re quite right, Ethel, but — but it will 
break mine too ! ” 

Ethel took both her shoulders in a firm 
grip and gave her a gentle shake. 

“ And now, my dear,” said she, kindly, but 
firmly, “ you’ve got to dry your eyes and look 
pleasant. I can hear some of them in the hall 
already ; and we’ve all got to laugh and talk, 
to drink coffee and play billiards, just as if 
there were no such thing as a heart to break 
in the world ! ” 

Rather to Ethel’s surprise, Monica, who 
had never appeared to be vain of her beauty, 
ran to look at herself in the nearest mirror, 
and frowned with distress on perceiving the 
havoc her tears had made in her appearance. 

Ethel was glad of the opportunity to laugh 
at her, thinking that a little gentle mockery 
would divert her thoughts. 

“ How vain you good-looking people are ! ” 


152 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

cried she, as she helped to rearrange her 
friend’s disordered hair. “ Now, there’s another 
precious advantage ugly people like me have, 
that they never have to take the least trouble 
with their personal appearance, since nothing 
can make them worth looking at.” 

Monica turned to her in real surprise. 

“ Ugly people ! ” echoed she. “ Do you call 
yourself ugly ? ” 

“ Most certainly I do. A sallow complexion 
and indifferent features, small eyes of no color 
in particular, a large mouth and a tendency 
to freckle — this combination may have its 
charms, but they are not generally conceded.” 

Monica still looked into her face with a little 
smile. 

“ Well, it may be as you say,” she said, 
softly. “ But to me your face is the most 
attractive in the world, except — one.” 

The words were scarcely uttered when 
again the two ladies heard voices in the dis- 
tance, and were thus aware that the drawing- 
room door had been opgned. Monica again 
showed much concern about her own appear- 
ance. Turning to face her friend, she asked, 
anxiously, with childish frankness, — 

“ Do I look all right ? Do I look — pretty ? ” 

Ethel laughed. 

“ Not your best. Why ? ” 

Monica stifled a sob. 


A Friend. 153 

“ I want him to remember me — looking 
pretty, looking my best ! ” said she. 

“ Poor Martin ! You must go and wipe 
away the traces of those tears, then.” 

Monica ran towards the door which led to 
the hall. But at that moment Martin’s voice 
was heard on the other side. She stopped 
short and returned slowly to Ethel’s side. 

“ No ! ” cried she, desperately. “ Pretty or 
ugly, I can’t spare a moment’s sight of him 
now ! ” 

Ethel said nothing, but she passed a sooth- 
ing, caressing hand over the unhappy woman’s 
beautiful brown hair. There was a struggle, 
perhaps a tragedy to come, she knew. Her 
gray eyes shone with kindness, with encourage- 
ment, as she whispered in Monica’s ear, — 

“ Keep a good heart. And hope — hope 
things may not be so bad ; perhaps you may 
find some way out after all.” 


154 


The Plain Miss Cray. 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE BLOW FALLS. 

When Oswin and Sir Michael and Gladys 
had left the billiard-room at Ethel’s suggestion, 
their first idea had been to retire discreetly to 
the drawing-room to wait until Monica should 
have recovered from her mysterious indis- 
position. 

Lingering, however, for a few moments in 
the little crooked passage which led thither, a 
wicked impulse seized Oswin to open a door 
on the left which led through a disused room 
on to the terrace, and to say, with a sly look at 
Sir Michael, — 

“ What a nice evening ! I wonder whether 
we shall find Mrs. Cray out there enjoying the 
moonlight ! ” 

Sir Michael chuckled, and caught eagerly at 
the suggestion. 

“ Sure, and it’s the very place she wouldbe. 
Smith, and it’s obliged to you I am for the 
hint,” said he. “ Miss Gladys, we’ll go and 
look for her there. She’d never miss such a 
sight as there’ll be of the harvest moon.” 


The Blow Falls. 155 

Gladys giggled, but looked rather afraid to 
come. 

“ I — I — I don’t think — ” began she. 

Sir Michael interrupted. 

“ Oh, yes, she’ll be there ! ” he urged con- 
fidently. “ Sure, the harvest moon’s a sight to 
be seen. It’s the prettiest moon in all the 
universe, you know, barrin’ one.” 

“ Which one ? ” asked Gladys, innocently. 

“ Well, sure, it’s one I’m not allowed to talk 
about,” replied the handsome Irishman, rather 
dismally. “ But I just think I’ll be telling you 
what it’s called, all the same, if you’ve no 
objection to hearing me.” 

There was a pause, and Oswin perceived 
that his own presence was wholly unnecessary 
and undesired. So he went quietly on to the 
drawing-room, leaving these two hesitating on 
the threshold, not only of the room which led 
to the terrace, but of something besides. 

Neither seemed to notice that Oswin had 
gone. They stood looking through the dusty 
room at the window on the other side, through 
which the moonlight was to be seen faintly 
through the drawn blind. 

“ I wonder — ” began Sir Michael. 

And then he dashed across the bare, half- 
empty room, pulled up the blind and tried the 
catch of the window. It gave way at once, 
and he pushed the sash to its full height and 


156 The Plain Miss Cray. 

looked out. The window sill was only three 
feet or so from the level of the terrace. 

Back he came to Gladys in a couple of 
strides. She read his intention without a 
word, and tried to run away. But he put out 
his hand imploringly, and the girl drew a gasp- 
ing breath and stopped. 

“ Won’t you ? ” said he, under his breath. 
“ Just ten minutes out there — wouldn’t it be 
fresh and pleasant after the hot rooms ? And 
Mrs. Cray may be there, you know?” he 
pleaded. 

Gladys shook her pretty head. 

“No, she won’t. And it’s no use. I daren’t 
go. Oh, I daren’t, I daren’t ; she’d never 
forgive me.” 

Sir Michael began to pull his long, strag- 
gling mustache, and as he did so, he gradually 
got between her and the way to the drawing- 
room. 

“ Gladys,” said he, “ you’ve no spirit ! ” 

“No. I know I haven’t.” 

“You let yourself be carried about from 
place to place, for all the world as if you were 
a bale of goods ! ” protested he, angrily. 

Gladys drew breath fitfully, and for a few 
moments said nothing. 

Then she spoke in a whisper, but with des- 
peration. 

‘‘ I am a bale of goods,” said she. “ You 


The Blow Falls. 157 

know that ; and it’s not generous of you to 
remind me of it.” 

She made an attempt, or perhaps it was a 
feint, to pass him and go to the drawing-room. 
But he easily prevented this. 

“Then, begad, Gladys,” said he, desperately, 
“ since you’re nothing but a bale of goods, it’s 
no use waiting for you to use your free-will ; 
I must just treat you as valuable merchandise, 
beyond my means to purchase ; but too pre- 
cious to let pass without a look at the beauties 
intended for my betters. So now, if you 
please, you’ll go out by that window — it’s the 
easiest little spring down in the world — and let 
me see how you look in the moonlight. And 
sure. I’ll find a way of delivering you to Mrs- 
Cray safe, without her having a suspicion that 
the goods have been so near a fellow that’d be 
glad to be a thief ! ” 

Gladys did not laugh. Indeed, under his 
tone of levity, there was a note of earnest feel- 
ing which she understood too well. She drew 
a sobbing breath, and without a word let him 
take her gently by the hand, and lead her to 
the open window. Once there she did not 
hesitate again. Without any more urging on 
his part she sprang lightly over the window- 
sill, and found herself out in the moonlight, 
with Sir Michael beside her. 

There was a nervous agitation in her manner 


158 The Plain Miss Cray. 

which made her more charming in the young 
man’s eyes than she had ever been before. Her 
little practised coquetries, pretty as they were, 
had had no charm for him to compare with this 
real anxiety, this evident and genuine distress. 

“ Sure, why do you look so frightened ? ” said 
he, quite sharply. “ You’ve been out here a 
dozen times with Smith and with Lord Carrick- 
morne, and with the man who came over to 
see Martin from the ferry.” 

“ Yes, oh, yes, of course I have,” said Gladys. 
Then she added below her breath, ■“ Mama 
sent me ! ” 

He almost stamped his foot. 

“ And so you’d have come out with me 
readily enough, and laughed and flirted, as you 
did with Smith, if only mama had sent you, 
instead of your coming of your own accord ? ” 
cried he, impatiently. 

Gladys, who was trembling, answered very 
quietly,— 

“ I didn’t come of my own accord. You 
made me come.” 

Sir Michael fell into a fury, bounced away, 
then returned with fire in his eyes, and pointed 
to the open door of the house. 

“ I apologize for my impertinence. Miss 
Gladys,” said he, stiffly. “ I’ll do nothing to 
prevent your going back again into the house.” 

Poor Gladys hesitated, then hung her head 


The Blow Falls. 


159 


like a naughty child and went meekly in the 
direction he indicated. A spasm of emotion 
shot through the young man’s breast. He 
began dimly to understand that the suffering 
was not all on his side. 

“ Miss Gladys,” whispered he, from behind 
her, very meekly, very humbly indeed. 

She lingered a little, but did not speak. 

“ You — you would have laughed and flirted 
with — with Smith, now, wouldn’t you ? ” 

The girl turned slowly, and he saw something 
in her pretty little face more attractive than any 
of her every-day smiles and airs of frivolous 
amiability. 

“ Yes,” said she, quite simply. “ Of course 
I should. I — I shouldn’t have hurt him.” 

He was by her side, looking down at her, 
breathing very fast. 

“ You’ve got a soul,” said he, shortly. “ I 
knew it, I knew it.” 

The girl drew back, a little alarmed again. 

“ No, no, I haven’t,” said she, quickly. “ I 
— I can’t afford such a luxury ! ” 

And she tried to laugh, an attempt which 
seemed to Sir Michael pitiful enough. 

“ And you’d sell your soul for a big house in 
town and another in the counthry, and for a 
carriage to take you about from place to place 
where it would give you no pleasure to go ! Oh, 
Gladys ! ” 


i6o The Plain Miss Cray. 

She looked up at him, and he saw that her 
blue eyes were moist. 

“ Do you think I care for all that — more than 
anything ? I myself ? ” asked she. “ If you do 
think so, you’re wrong. I don’t say there 
wouldn’t be any pleasure in balls and parties, if 
I could go to enjoy myself, and could do as I 
liked. But I go under orders, and I don’t enjoy 
it a bit. I hate it all, and the plottings and 
schemings and the humiliations ! Oh ! when I 
was first out, when I was eighteen, I didn’t so 
much mind. But now it’s gone on for four 
years, and it’s getting harder and harder, and 
more and more dreadful, till sometimes I feel 
as if I must turn round, and vow that I’ll never 
smile except to the people I like, and never 
dance any more, except with the partners I 
choose myself.” 

“ Tell me, Gladys, what sort of partners would 
you choose now ? ” asked Sir Michael, earnestly. 
“ It’d be smart London men, I suppose, with 
hair as sleek as a water-rat’s skin, not fellows 
with the mane of a bushranger ! ” 

And he passed a diffident hand through his 
own brown locks. 

“ Oh, oh, I like curly hair ! ” murmured 
Gladys, softly. 

And he was conscious that these simple words 
were uttered from her heart, and had no affinity 
with the little childish flatteries and civilities 


The Blow Falls. i6i 

which she had been trained to pay under orders 
to the men of whom her mother approved. 

Sir Michael betrayed his pleasure at her 
words, by a quick movement which the girl 
noticed. She was recalled to a sense of the 
enormity of her own offense. What if her 
mother could overhear this rough Irishman 
calling her by her Christian name unrebuked, 
and the awful confession she had just made in 
spite of herself ? 

She made a spring towards the door. Just 
as she did so, a cackling laugh, which she 
recognized as Beckingham’s, startled her. 

Looking along the terrace she sav/ that ami- 
able old gentleman standing at one of the draw- 
ing-room windows, peering out at her and Sir 
Michael. 

“ Oh, Mrs. Cray,” he called out, turning for 
a moment into the room, “ here is your daugh- 
ter. No, don’t be alarmed. She’s all right. 
She’s only been enjoying the pleasant evening 
air with Sir Michael. Ha, ha ! ” 

Mrs. Cray, who had grown very fidgety at 
her daughter’s prolonged absence, sprang up 
indignantly from the chair where she had been 
sitting, in conversation with Gerald Power and 
his friend Hendon. 

“ I thought,” she said, turning sharply to 
Martin, “ you told me she was with Ethel and 
Monica in the billiard-room.” 


i 62 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

“ Isn’t she ? ’’said Martin, innocently. “Well, 
it’s a lovely night. She won’t take cold ! 
I’ll go and scold her, and send her in to you, 
while I go and find out if Monica’s all right 
again.” 

He had been careful to prevent his mother’s 
going to the billiard-room. He knew that a 
great crisis was approaching, and it was desirable 
to keep every one but the clever, kind-hearted 
Ethel, and the sharp-eyed Oswin, in ignorance 
of the truth as long as possible. 

Oswin and Sir Michael, both of whom must 
have guessed that there was something seriously 
amiss, were honest fellows, and could be trusted 
to keep their surmises to themselves. Little 
Gladys would probably have seen nothing of 
the inner side of things. Martin had said, 
therefore, that Monica was suffering from the 
heat and would soon rejoin them, and as the 
newcomers were announced a few moments 
later, their entrance formed a diversion which 
served to keep the elder ladies occupied. 

He now returned to the billiard-room, and 
softly opened the door. Ethel met him, with 
a reassuring smile on her face. She said 
nothing, but nodded in the direction of Monica. 

“ Go and bring Gladys indoors,” whispered 
Martin. “ Poor child, she’s going, if you’ll 
allow me the expression, to ‘catch it hot’ ! ” 

“ All right,” said Ethel. 


The Blow Falls. 163 

“And,” went on Martin, gratefully, “thanks 
for all you’ve done.” 

He passed her, and went down to Monica, 
who was now, to all appearance, quite herself 
again. 

“ Well, better now ? ” said he, gently. 

Monica’s eyes burned with feverish excite- 
ment as she glanced up at him, and, by a look, 
implored Ethel to remain. 

“ Oh, I’m much better now. Quite well,” 
said she. 

“You look charming!” said Martin, ten- 
derly. 

“ Ethel said I didn’t I ” 

“ Even Ethel is sometimes wrong. You can 
bear the boys, and their smoke ? ” 

“Oh, yes,” said Monica. 

“ Power’s come,” went on Martin, “ and his 
friend Hendon. A most amusing fellow. 
You’ll like him, I know. Here they are ! ” 

Monica said nothing in reply. She was 
listening to the hubbub of voices in the cor- 
ridor outside, where Mrs. Laffan, having de- 
cided not to wait for Martin’s return, was 
bringing the party from the drawing-room. 

A moment later the door opened, and the 
first of the newcomers, who proved to be Ger- 
ald Power, came down to her, holding out his 
hand. 

“ This is Gerald Power, a very old chum of 
mine, Monica,” explained Martin, 


164 The Plain Miss Cray. 

And Monica gave her hand, with a smile, to 
a genial-looking, red-headed man, with a short 
beard and a snub nose, with good nature beam- 
ing from every feature. 

“I’ve heard a great deal about you from 
Martin, Mr. Power,’’ said Monica, as her hand 
was taken in a hearty grasp. 

“ It’s very good of you, Mrs. Laffan, to let us 
come like this,’’ replied Power. “ We only 
tumbled out of the train two hours ago. But 
my friend Hendon was so anxious to make the 
acquaintance of Martin and yourself that he 
wouldn’t wait till our luggage arrived.’’ 

Monica made some rather incoherent civil 
rejoinder, but she was listening with strained 
attention to the voice of some one who was still 
in the background, hidden from her sight by 
Martin. 

At that moment, however, Martin turned, 
and going down to her, brought the second 
guest to be introduced. 

He was a slightly-built man, rather under 
the middle height, with blue eyes, a fair but 
tanned skin, and curly light hair. He smiled 
straight into Monica’s face with an unabashed 
good humor that made her catch her breath. 

“Mr. Hendon,” said Martin, “allow me to 
introduce you to my wife.” 

He had no suspicion of the truth. He saw 
that Monica was pale, indeed, but that he looked 


The Blow Falls. 165 

upon as the result of the trying incident from 
which she had only just recovered. 

Even if he had been on the watch, however, 
he would have been deceived, so well did the 
unhappy woman play her part. No one would 
have guessed that she was shaking hands with 
her own husband, now suddenly appearing 
before her after an absence of three years, as 
she held out her hand, and said simply, — 

“ Delighted, Mr. Hendon.” 

And after that she was quite calm, and asked 
both the newcomers intelligently about their 
journey. 

She was stunned, and for the time past feel- 
ing. The blow had fallen. And she could do 
nothing, nothing but wait, wait for the end. 


i66 


The Plain Miss Cray. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE STRANGER. 

Now, tiie drawing-room at Abbey Mallow 
was a delightful apartment, and just about as 
unlike the ordinary drawing-room as it is pos- 
sible for a room to be. 

In the old days, when Martin Laffan’s father 
was in residence there, this room had been fur- 
nished in the conventional manner, and traces 
of this period were still plainly evident in the 
light carpet, with garlands of once gaudy- 
colored roses of large size ; in the wall-paper, 
with its pale pink ground and pattern of tar- 
nished gold ; in the white and gold moldings 
of the ceiling, the old-fashioned mantelpiece of 
discolored white marble, and in the scattered 
relics of a drawing-room “ suite ” of curly- 
legged, early Victorian design, which were to 
be found among more substantial and comfort- 
able chairs and sofas which had been added - 
in recent times. 

An old rosewood grand piano stood up in 
one corner, near one of the French windows, 
and a couple of loo-tables stood primly against 


The Stranger. 167 

the walls, the one bearing a lamp and the 
other a pile of books, papers and pamphlets. 

As forthe books, indeed, they overflowed into 
every nook and corner, and formed the most 
striking feature of the room. Rough shelves 
had been put up in the wide recesses on either 
side of the fireplace, and these were filled with 
an oddly-assorted collection of volumes — yel- 
low-backed English novels, paper-covered 
French ones, handsomely-bound volumes of 
all sizes, pamphlets and papers of every age 
and every color being thrust in anywhere 
where room could be found for them. 

A few old-fashioned water-color sketches 
hung on the walls, and around these were 
sporting prints, a map or two, and trophies of 
old helmets and swords, horns, antlers, stags’ 
heads and foxes’ pates, pipe-racks, guns, spears, 
leathern water-bottles and dancing-clubs from 
the Solomon Islands. 

There was a large, plain writing-table in one 
corner ; and near the fireplace, where a small 
fire burned in the September evenings, were 
two comfortable easy-chairs with covers of 
cosy-looking, large-flowered chintz. 

On one side of the fireplace was an old oak 
settle, with an unmounted leopard’s skin thrown 
over it ; and more unmounted skins of lion, 
tiger and bear were scattered about over the 
floor. 


1 68 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

All the ladies of the house-party had come 
back to this room, while the gentlemen, with 
the exception of Sir Michael, who was prowl- 
ing about on the terrace outside, had remained 
in the billiard-room for a game of pool. 

This arrangement had been brought about 
by Ethel, who had noticed in Monica’s manner 
a subdued excitement which seemed to warn 
that she needed rest and quiet. 

Ethel, having brought this about by a few 
words to Martin, took the further precaution 
of making Monica lie down on a couch in one 
corner of the drawing-room, with her eyes 
closed and her back to the lights of the room. 

These lights, by the by, were of a particularly 
subdued and pleasant kind, being, with the 
exception of one lamp, all from wax candles, 
which stood on the piano, on the mantelpiece 
and in sconces on the walls. 

Gladys was seated at the piano, playing 
walzes with a pretty, light touch ; and from 
time to time Sir Michael, as he got an oppor- 
tunity,would peep in, unseen by Mrs. Cray, and 
exchange a few words with the graceful player. 

The two elderly ladies were conversing by 
the fire ; Ethel was sitting, with her hands 
clasped on one knee, on the settle, thinking, 
when the door was pushed open by Becking- 
ham, who glanced round him with his usual 
maliciously scrutinizing look as he came in. 


The Stranger. 169 

“ Have they finished their game yet, Mr. 
Laffan ? ” asked Ethel. 

“ Very nearly. Mr. Hendon is beating Smith 
by I don’t know how many points. I suppose 
5'ou’re glad to hear that, eh, Miss Cray ? ” 

Ethel shrugged her shoulders and laughed 
lightly. 

“ Oh, Mr. Smith’s victories or defeats don’t 
interest me one way or the other.” 

Beckingham grunted, 

“ I should have thought, since you two are 
always quarreling, you would have been glad 
when he was beaten.” 

“ No. I’m a generous enemy,” replied 
Ethel ; “ or, perhaps. I’m too conscious of my 
own strength to want an ally in Mr. Hendon.” 

“ You don’t like him ? ” asked the shrewd 
old man, advancing his wrinkled face a little 
nearer to hers. 

“ I neither like nor dislike him. I’ve seen 
him this evening for the first time.” 

Even while she made this answer, Ethel saw 
that Beckingham’s eyes were traveling round 
the room in search of Monica. When he had 
discovered where she was, he took a long look 
at the prostrate figure, and then, turning his 
back to everybody in the room except Ethel, 
he stooped and spoke to her in a lower voice. 

“ Do you think — h’m — young Mrs. Laffan 
saw him to-night for the first time ?” asked he. 


170 The Plain Miss Cray. 

Ethel looked up quickly and angrily ; but 
under her anger there was something like an 
impulse of fear. She waited a moment to 
control her voice before she answered. 

“ Of course. Didn’t she say so ? ” 

Beckingham shook his head in mischievous 
amusement, and paused a few moments to 
glance again in the direction of Monica, before 
replying. 

“ I never take any notice of what ladies soy,” 
he croaked out at last. “ Only of what they 

Ethel rose from the settle, indignantly. 

“ Then it’s wasting one’s breath to talk to you 
Mr. Laffan,” said she, as she left him and 
crossed the room towards Monica’s couch. 

While this short conversation was going on. 
Sir Michael O’Keeffe had grown bold enough, 
under cover of the increased buzz of talk, to 
enter through the open Erench window and, 
half-concealed by the window-curtains, to hang 
over Gladys, and to exchange a few remarks 
with her. It was noticeable that both he and 
she had grown much bolder since their talk on 
the terrace, and that he now used her Chris- 
tian name without apology or hindrance. 

It was true that he could be seen by Mrs. 
Laffan at the fireplace, and that a word from 
her would have put Mrs. Cray, to whom she 
was talking, on the alert. But Sir Michael had 
faith in the old lady’s good nature, and had 


The Stranger. 17 1 

indeed shot at her one imploring glance from 
his handsome blue eyes, as he sneaked in be- 
hind the window curtains. There was only 
one other person to fear, and that was the ever 
disagreeable Beckingham, now that he had 
come into the room. 

But, then, there was always the chance that 
Beckingham would be too happy in thwarting 
the plans of Mrs. Cray to help her in her task 
of vigilance. 

“ I think 5'our playing’s just the prettiest I 
ever heard, Gladys,” whispered Sir Michael 
from behind the lace curtain. “ It’s just like 
yourself, like a sort of lightly-thrown-in sketch 
of music, just as you’re like a water-color 
drawing of a lovely woman ! ” 

Gladys softly laughed under her breath. 

“ I wish I could play something better than 
these stupid waltzes,” she whispered back, 
with an eye on mama on one side, and the 
other peeping adoringly through the lace cur- 
tain. “ I don’t like them best, you know. I 
play just what mama buys for me.” 

“ And what is it you like better, then ? 
Long classical pieces that are all runs up and 
down, without any tune ? ” asked Sir Michael, 
rather anxiously. 

“ Oh, no ! Now, I like old song tunes, I 
think, and — and national airs. I think your 
Irish music is sweetly pretty.” 


I72 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

“ Begad and you’re right. And I’ve got a 
book full of them at home that belonged to my 
mother. And I’ve got a piano, too, for all 
Mrs. Cray thinks I live in a mud cabin between 
a pile of potatoes and the pig ! ” 

Gladys smiled delightedly. Then it sud- 
denly occurred to her that she had no business 
to look as if the information about the piano 
was of interest to her. So she raised her eye- 
brows with a delicious assumption of indiffer- 
ence which had no terrors for her lover, and 
then, unluckily, she raised her voice a little in 
her momentary embarrassment, to reply, — 

“ Oh, yes, of course everybody has a piano ! ” 

At that, Mrs. Cray, in her chair by the fire, 
wheeled round suddenly, and discovered by 
the movement of the curtain that there was 
danger lurking behind its folds. 

“Oh, Mrs. Laffan, do you mind if Gladys 
shuts that window ? ” she asked at once. 
“ Really these September nights are so 
chilly — ’’ 

“She makes it warm enough for me ! ’’ mut- 
tered Sir Michael to Beckingham, as he came 
out sheepishly from his hiding-place, after 
shutting the window. 

“Gladys, my dear child, bring me my work 
bag, will you, and help me wind some more 
wool,’’ said Mrs. Cray, thinking the piano a 
uangerous neighborhood for her darling. And 


173 


The Stranger. 

as the young girl meekly obeyed, her mother 
went on to Mrs. Laffan, “ What a charming 
room this is ! So much pleasanter than the 
conventional drawing-room ! ” 

“ Well, you see,” answered Mrs. Laffan, 
who could scarcely repress a smile, so entirely 
was she undeceived by this rapid change of 
subject. “ Martin has used it as his study 
during these years that he’s lived here a 
bachelor. It has been rather difficult to con- 
vert it back from a man’s room to a woman’s.” 

“And the room has suffered in the process 
as much as its master has in a similar one ! ” 
croaked out the ill-natured Beckingham to Sir 
Michael, savagely. 

He spoke so disagreeably that his words 
produced a painful impression upon every- 
body ; and there was a general sense of relief 
when, at that moment, Oswin entered from the 
billiard-room. 

“ Ah, and so at last that interminable game 
is over ! ” cried Mrs. Laffan. “But where are 
the others ? ” 

“Yes, where’s Mr. Hendon ?” asked Mrs. 
Cray, with interest. 

“ He’s coming,” answered Oswin. “ I’m 
sent forward first, to prepare you for the joy- 
ful shock.” 

“You don’t like him,” said Ethel, shrewdly, 
from the middle of the room. “ And — he beat 


174 The Plain Miss Cray. 

you at billiards. Cause and effect, Mr. 
Smith ? ” 

“ If you choose to think so, Miss Cray,” said 
Oswin, dryly. 

“ But, seriously,” pursued Ethel, coming 
down towards him, and looking as if she felt 
a real interest in his reply, “ what fault do you 
find with him ? Isn’t he lively and amusing ? ” 
Oswin looked her straight in the face, with 
an expression which was a sort of challenge. 

“ Very. My only objection to him is that 
which you once stated to be your chief objec- 
tion to me. He is an insufferable cad ! ” 

He had gone up to meet Ethel, as she came 
forward, defiantly, ready to accept any chal- 
lenge she might like to throw down. He 
spoke in a low voice, but his words were clearly 
heard by Monica, whom he had not noticed, 
so still was she lying on the sofa in her dark 
corner. She started up so suddenly that he 
went back a step in surprise. 

Her face was flushed with indignation. 

“ Really, Mr. Smith, I’m surprised — ” she 
began incoherently, “ Surely, surely — Mar- 
tin’s — Mr. Laffan’s guest — ” 

Her breathing had grown labored ; her 
hands were clenched ; she seemed unable to 
go on. 

Ethel came to her rescue. Laughing 
brightly, and forcing Monica to sit down on 


The Stranger. 175 

the sofa from which she had risen, she 
said, — 

“ Never mind, Monica, I’ll make him ex- 
plain, apologize, abjectly. Now, sir,” she went 
on, turning with playful defiance to Oswin, and 
stamping her foot, “ formulate your objections 
and have them trampled under foot ! ” 

Oswin was a good deal taken aback. He 
had been astonished at Monica’s vehemence, 
and he now was quick enough to perceive, by 
something in Ethel’s steady, straightforward 
glance, that he was expected to answer lightly, 
in the tone she had herself assumed. 

“ Oh, well, since you vyill have it,” he said 
at last, “ my great objection is to the way in 
which he speaks of women.” 

Ethel, to her mother’s horror, turned away 
and whistled in affected surprise. 

“Is Saul also among the prophets ?” she 
asked, with round eyes. 

Oswin was nettled. 

“ I don’t pose as a champion of women,” he 
said dryly. 

“ Hardly ! ” retorted Ethel, with a shrug. 

He grew angrier, as he answered severely, — 

“ Because nowadays women look so jolly 
well after themselves that they don’t need 
one ! ” 

“ Thank you ! ” said Ethel, mockingly. 

“ But on the rare occasions when I hear 


176 The Plain Miss Cray. 

them spoken of even worse than they deserve,” 
he went on in the same tone, “ I take their 
part — ” 

“ I see. Just out of cussedness,” put in 
Ethel. 

“ Exactly,” said Oswin, nearly at white heat. 

The passage of arms was abruptly ended by 
the entrance of Gerald Power, his friend Hen- 
don, and Martin, who filed in from the 
billiard-room while the last hot words were 
exchanged between the two combatants. 

“ Oh, Mr. Hendon,” cried Mrs. Cray, as soon 
as they appeared, “ we want you to tell us 
some more of your interesting stories about 
Colorado, and Mexico, and those places ! ” 

“ I’m afraid I’ve told you all the best,” re- 
plied Hendon, brightly. 

“ Let us have the second best, then,” said 
Ethel. 

Mr. Hendon, who was the very picture of 
an attractive, light-hearted, rather noisy young 
Irishman, answered with an assumption of 
confusion, — 

“ The worst of having to tell one’s stories to 
a mixed audience like this, is that it trebles 
the risk of being found out. You ladies read 
one class of paper ; the men from London 
read another. While people who live in the 
country, like Mr. Laffan ” — and he looked with 
a laughing eye at Martin — “ have a nasty trick 


177 


The Stranger. 

of reading books, papers, magazines right 
through. Even the little corner paragraph, 
about the snake that swallowed the shark, 
doesn’t escape their eye.” 

“ You don’t mean to say those stories you 
told us were not true, then ? ” cried Mrs. Cray, 
in horror. 

“ In the main they were,” answered Hendon, 
hastil3^ “ But I won’t swear that in the excite- 
ment of narration I don’t occasionally throw in 
an extra revolver-shot ! ” 

At that the ladies came round him, laughing 
and scolding ; and in the commotion which 
followed, Gladys contrived to detach herself 
from the group and to exchange a little talk 
with Sir Michael, who was always on the alert, 
and ready to avail himself of such chances. 

And then Sir Michael whispered in the ear 
of Gerald Power, — 

“ It’s a little help I’m wanting from ye. 
Power. Would you be after keeping the old 
lady talking, while I take Miss Gladys to show 
her the Great Bear from the terrace ? ” 

For Gladys had lost some of her cowardice 
and had expressed her willingness to go out 
with him again. 

“The Great Bear ! ” muttered Power, shak- 
ing his head, and glancing towards Mrs. Cray. 
“ Sure, you’ll hear some growling presently ! ” 

But he did as he was asked to do, and joined 


178 The Plain Miss Cray. 

the group round Hendon, while Sir Michael 
led Gladys out by the window and immediately 
followed her on to the terrace. 

Martin, who had been exchanging a few 
words with Beckingham near the door, now 
crossed the room to the corner where Monica 
was sitting quietly by herself on the sofa, pre- 
tending to look at a ladies’ paper. 

Her eyes wandered stealthily from Hendon 
to Martin, and back again, however, and the 
feverish flush in her cheeks betrayed the 
intensity of the excitement from which she was 
suffering. 

When Martin spoke to her, her face soft- 
ened, and she glanced up at him with a flash 
of passion in her brown eyes. The next mo- 
ment she controlled herself, and turned her 
head nervously away. 

“ How do you feel now, dear ? ” said he 
gently. “ You don’t look quite yourself yet." 

And he leaned over the back of the sofa on 
which she was sitting. 

“ Don’t I ? ’’ said Monica, making an effort 
to rouse herself. “ It’s true I feel rather dull 
and stupid.” 

“ You should get Power’s friend to talk to 
you,” said Martin. “ I’ve never laughed more 
in an hour than I have since he’s been here ! 
A most amusing fellow ! ” As if to give point 
to these words, a burst of laughter came at that 


179 


The Stranger. 

moment from the group round Mr. Hendon. 
Martin called out across the room to him, 
“ Hendon, tell my wife about the blacksmith- 
judge.” 

Hendon, however, drew himself up with 
mock dignity. 

“ I’m grieved that I must decline,” said he. 
“ I find a nasty spirit of incredulity abroad, 
since Mr. Smith became one of my audience.’ 

“No, no, Mr. Hendon, it was not Mr. 
Smith's fault,” said Mrs. Cray. “ It was your 
own confession that shook our confidence.” 

Oswin had come down, and was speaking in 
a low voice to Beckingham. 

“ The beggar’s as artful as they make ’em ! 
I could have shown up some of his stories 
myself.” 

“ You don’t think he’s a genuine traveler?” 
asked Beckingham. 

Oswin shook his head. 

Meanwhile, the ladies were still occupied 
with Hendon, whose lively manners were ex- 
actly to their taste. 

“ Well, if we evidently like the stories,” 
Ethel said persuasively to him, “ what does it 
matter whether we believe them or not ? ” 

Hendon replied with mock condescension, 
after a rapid glance in the direction of Monica, 
who was evidently listening, though she was 
not now looking at him. 


i8o The Plain Miss Cray. 

“ If I allow myself to be talked round,” said 
he, “ will you let me tell whatever sort of story 
I like ? I’ve told you tales to make you laugh. 
Now, may I tell you one to make you cry ?” 

“ Have mercy on our complexions ! ” cried 
Ethel. 

“ I won’t,” said Hendon. “ I’m going to 
touch the heart of every one v.rho has a heart to 
be touched. The men, of course, don’t count : 
their hearts are lost.” And he glanced round 
with a mock bow. “ Now this,” he went on 
with an air of compelling attention, “ is a story 
I heard when I was in the Far West.” 

“ Hammersmith ! ” murmured Oswin to 
Beckingham with scorn. 

But the ladies, one and all, prepared to listen 
with all their ears. 


His Story. 


i8i 


CHAPTER XIV. 

HIS STORY. 

“ It was told me,” went on Hendon, allow- 
ing his voice to drop and to become more 
serious, “ bya poor fellow I met out there, who 
had been unlucky right through, and who was 
dying, thousands of miles away from any one 
he cared for, and still further. I’m afraid, from 
any one who cared for him.” 

Monica was listening with strained intent- 
ness to each word. She glanced furtively up 
at Martin, but he did not notice the look, for 
he, too, was turning his face in the direction 
of the fascinating story-teller. 

Oswin, however, was still incredulous and 
disdainful. 

“ Thought that dying man, with story, was 
played out,” sneered he to Beckingham. 

“ I came across him in an odd way,” pur- 
sued Hendon, ignorant of these murmurs of 
comment. “ One day when I was out pros- 
pecting in Colorado — ” 

“ They don’t prospect in Colorado,” growled 
Oswin below his breath. 


i 82 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

“ I was startled,” went on Hendon, “ by the 
sound of horses’ hoofs on the road behind 
me, and, turning quickly, found myself face to 
face with two mounted horsemen and with 
two revolvers pointed at my head.” The ladies 
punctuated this recital with little exclamations 
of horror, and he went on. “ ‘ Hands up ! ” 
cried they, and up w'ent my hands pretty 
quickly, I can tell you. For if they hadn’t, if 
my right hand had made the slightest move- 
ment in the direction of that revolver, without 
which no Colorado gentleman’s wardrobe is 
complete, I should have been a dead man.” 

“Were they robbers ?” asked old Mrs. Laffan. 

“ No, they were marshals. They are the 
men who are responsible for what law and order 
there is out there.” 

“ And what did they want with you ? ” asked 
Mrs. Cray. 

“ Well, nothing, as it happened. They were 
in pursuit of a fellow who had shot another 
man dead in a row in a saloon the night be- 
fore, and coming across me on the road they 
knew he’d taken, they at first mistook me for 
him. I satisfied them as to my identity, and 
they passed on.” 

“Without even a shot at you? Oh dear, 
that’s very disappointing ! ” cried Ethel. 

“ Wait a minute,” said Hendon, with empha- 
sis. “No sooner were they out of sight, than 


His Story. 183 

a man crawled out from a clump of bushes by 
the side of the road, and owned to being the 
very man they were looking for.” 

“ Weren’t you afraid to speak to him, a mur- 
derer ? ” cried Mrs. Laffan, rather shocked. 

Hendon shook his head and smiled. 

“ We get used to these things out there. 
You put a bullet into a man there, where in 
England you’d take out a summons. The 
poor chap had had a shot fired into him too, 
and was evidently not long for this world. I 
gave him some whisky, and did what I could 
for him, and while I stayed with him, he told 
me this story. He’d been a wild sort of chap, 
it seems, and had left behind him in the old 
country a poor little wife, who had no reason 
to bless his memory. To do him justice, he 
was sorry, and the only concern he had was 
for her and for her happiness. ‘ I’ve been a 
scamp,’ said he, ‘ a wild, careless fellow, but 
I loved her’ — Hendon spoke with deep feel- 
ing, and Monica turned away so that no one 
could see her face — “ as only a worthless fellow 
like me can love ! ’ ” 

“ Why do the worthless fellows always think 
their love is better than anybody else’s ? ” inter- 
rupted Martin, with some irritation. 

“ Ask me another, Mr. Laffan,” replied Hen- 
don, airily, “ I’m only telling you what this 
fellow said.” 


184 The Plain Miss Cray. 

Beckingham had been watching Monica with 
furtive mischief. 

“Young Mrs. Laffan seems interested,” said 
he aside to Oswin. 

But Oswin, on having his attention thus 
directed to Monica, was startled into suspicions 
which he had no wish to share with the male- 
volent Beckingham. He therefore answered, 
as lightly as possible, as if the matter were 
trivial in the extreme, — 

“ All ladies like having their feelings har- 
rowed.” 

Meanwhile Hendon was going on with his 
recital. 

“ ‘ During all the years I have been away 
from my wife,’ the poor fellow went on to me, 
‘ I have hardly ever written to her, hardly ever 
let her know where to write to me.’ ” 

“ Just the sort of love I should have expected 
from such a scamp,” interrupted Martin, hotly. 
“ Wasn’t that the way to break her heart ? ” 

“ Exactly what I said to him,” answered Hen- 
don, promptly. “ But his idea was that it 
would be better for her to forget him, to look 
upon him as indeed dead, since he was dead to 
her forever.” 

“ But why was he dead to her ? ” asked 
Ethel, with curiosity. 

“ He’d got into some scrape or other, which 
prevented his going back to her,” said Hendon. 


His Story. 185 

“ And wouldn't she go to him ? ” asked Ethel. 

The voice of Monica suddenly broke in upon 
the discussion from her obscure corner, — 

“ Perhaps he never asked her to, never gave 
her the chance ! ” 

“ I asked him that,” said Hendon, turning 
imperturbably in the direction of the voice. 
“ He said she was goodness itself, a heroine, 
an angel, but that he could not expose her to the 
hardships of the life he was obliged to lead ! ” 

Martin came forward and struck the back of 
the settle sharply with his fist. 

“ That man’s love wasn’t worth having,” cried 
he, emphatically, “ or he’d have half-starved 
himself to have her with him, and then have 
starved himself again to keep her ! ” 

“ Ah ! ” suggested Hendon, wheeling round, 
and speaking in the easier tones he had used 
before he began his story, “ but if he’d had to 
starve her too ! ” 

Monica rose, and without coming down to 
the others, hung on to the side of the sofa as 
she spoke. Her voice was subdued, but her 
eyes burned with a strange fire. 

“ She wouldn’t have minded that,” said she, 
“ there’s a starvation that’s worse than hunger ! 
Didn’t he know that ? It was cruel, cruel ! ” 

Martin turned to Hendon in triumph. 

‘‘ There ! you have a woman’s opinion of your 
precious scamp ! ” 


1 86 The Plain Miss Cray. 

Hendon laughed, as if amused by the strength 
of their interest. 

“ But what can a lady, like Mrs. Laffan, a 
happy wife, surrounded by comfort and luxury, 
know or care for the feelings of a wretched 
outcast, without friends, without money, who 
lives the life of a hunted animal, and dies like 
a rat in a hole ? ” asked he. 

Monica shuddered, and said nothing. Ethel 
it was who spoke next. 

“ But what about the story ? Go on with 
the story,” said she, imperiously. 

“ There isn’t much more,” said Hen- 
don' “ He died, and there was an end of 
him.” 

“ Well, it isn’t so moving as I expected,” 
said Ethel. 

“ That’s not the fault of the story,” said the 
narrator, readily, “but of the hardness of your 
heart.” 

Mrs. Laffan, though she did not know of any 
particular significance in the story, was rather 
interested by it. 

“ Was he an Englishman ? ” asked she. “ A 
gentleman ? Did he tell you anything about 
himself ?” 

“ He was a fellow-countryman of my own,” 
answered Hendon, “ to judge by his accent 
and his name.” 

“ And what was his name ? ” asked she. 


His Story. 187 

“O’Hara. Derrick O’Hara. Regular Celtic 
name that ! ” 

At the mention of the name there was a general 
and marked sensation of surprise and excitement 
in the room. The ladies uttered exclamations, 
and began to explain, incoherently and all at 
the same time. The men exchanged comments 
on the unexpected announcement. 

Monica alone appeared quite unmoved by it. 
She stood in the same position, with her hand 
upon the end of the sofa, leaning heavily upon 
it, and staring steadily at Hendon. 

Martin, after a moment’s pause, went up to 
her, and laid his hand upon her shoulder with 
an impulse of extravagant joy which he tried 
in vain to conceal. 

“ Dead ! ” exclaimed he. “ O’Hara dead ! 
Are you sure ? ’’ 

Hendon was looking about him, from one to 
the other, with a smile of amused surprise on 
his face at the consternation he had created, 
which he appeared unable to understand. 
He turned to answer his host’s question. 

“ I’m as sure as a man can be,’’ he replied 
confidently, “ since it was I who buried him.’’ 

Martin was looking at Monica, and everybody 
in the room was occupied with the news. In 
that moment, when attention was diverted from 
him to the intelligence he had brought, Hendon 
looked at Martin with a momentary change to 


1 88 The Plain Miss Cra3^ 

a sullen and sinister expression in his light 
eyes. 

Mrs. Cray, though she shared in a vague way 
in the general excitement, was the last to wake 
to its full significance. 

“ But wasn’t that the name of the man who 
shot your agent, Mr. Laffan ? ” she said at last. 

“ Why, yes,” answered old Mrs. Laffan for 
her son. “ That’s why Martin came over here, 
to try to catch this man and have him hanged ; 
wasn’t it, Martin ? ” 

Martin answered in a low voice, — 

“ Yes. I suppose it was.” 

Hendon burst out into an amused laugh. 

“ And now he’s cheated you, by dying out 
in Colorado ! the rascal ! ” cried he. 

“ Poor devil ! ” said Martin, as if to himself. 
Then he turned abruptly to Hendon. “ Have 
you got any proofs ? Any papers of his, or 
anything belonging to him ? ” 

From out of one of his pockets Hendon pro- 
duced a small revolver, in good order, but by 
no means new. 

“ Nothing but this — his revolver,” said he. 
“ Perhaps the very one he shot the man with in 
the saloon.” 

Mrs. Cray uttered a little scream. Monica 
came quickly forward, with an air of des- 
peration. 

“ Let me look at it” said she. 


His Story. 189 

Hendon smiled at her, but the look in his 
eyes, in response to her pleading glance, was 
not a pleasant one. 

“ No, no, these little things are not toys for 
ladies,” he answered, as if playfully, while he 
put the revolver back in his pocket. 

She retreated in silence, without daring to 
give him another look. Gerald Power, who 
saw that the evening had been in a great meas- 
ure spoilt by Hendon’s unlucky story, and the 
discovery which had ensued, now came for- 
ward to bid Monica good-by, and met her as 
she was going back to her corner near the sofa. 

Old Mrs. Laffan, however, was too much in- 
terested in the narrative not to ask more ques- 
tions and make more comments. 

“ I never heard that this Derrick O’Hara 
had a wife,” she said to Hendon, as he also 
prepared to take his departure, and turned to 
shake hands with Martin. “ I believe the story 
he told you was all made up ! ” 

“ That’s possible, of course,” replied Hendon, 
with a shrug. 

Mrs. Cray rose in her turn and joined the 
group. 

“You’re too hard, Mrs. Laffan,” she said 
sentimentally. “ Now I always feel my heart 
go out to a story of unhappy love ! ” Some- 
thing, perhaps it was a sound that came invol- 
untarily from Oswin Smith’s lips, made her 


i9o The Plain Miss Cray. 

glance around her in search of her younger 
daughter. The result was an instant and sur- 
prising change of tone. “ Where’s Gladys ? 
And Sir Michael ? ” she said sharply. 

Oswin, who was near the window, answered 
her in a tone as sentimental as her own had 
been a few moments before, — 

“ Miss Gladys is out on the terrace, Mrs. 
Cray, watching the stars ? Shall I tell her to 
come in ? ” 

Mrs. Cray tried in vain to conceal her anger. 

“Yes, please do, Mr. Smith,” said she. “ Tell 
her to come in at once, or she’ll have a most 
shocking cold in the morning ! ” 

Nobody was deceived by this solicitude on 
the good lady’s part ; and Oswin, though he 
went out on the terrace at once with a very 
grave face, was more amused than anybody. 

Gerald Power was profuse in his thanks to 
Monica. 

“ It’s awfully good of you, Mrs. Laffan, to let 
us come in like this, just as we used to do 
when Martin was a bachelor,” said he. “ And 
my friend Hendon — ” At that moment he 
perceived that Hendon, having said good-by 
to Martin, was at his elbow. “ Oh, here he is 
to speak for himself ! ” added Power, as he 
turned to Martin. 

Hendon had taken advantage of the fact that 
Monica had withdrawn a little away from the 


His Story. 191 

rest ; and, by standing with his back to the 
others, he was able, while shaking hands with 
her, and pretending to thank her for her hos- 
pitality, to exchange a few words with her 
which nobody but themselves could hear. 

“ I must see you to-night, in here,” said he. 
“ Leave the window unfastened.” 

“ No, not here,” replied Monica, rapidly, in 
the same tone. “ I will come out to you ; I 
will meet you where you like. But — ” 

Hendon interrupted her sharply, but with- 
out raising his voice. 

“ Do as 1 tell you ; I have a reason.” He 
added in a louder tone, “ A most delightful 
evening, most delightful ! ” 

He shook her limp hand and left her. 
Monica sank cowering on the sofa, w'onder- 
ing vaguely what she looked like, and whether 
she should be able to answer if any one spoke 
to her. 


102 


The Plain Miss Cray. 


CHAPTER XV. 

A TRUCE. 

Fortunately for poor Monica, who was in 
no state to answer questions or to take part in 
small-talk, everybody else was too much oc- 
cupied, with the two departing guests. Power 
and Hendon, to take much notice of her. So 
that her retreat into the darkest corner of the 
drawing-room seemed to be only the natural 
result of her having been indisposed earlier in 
the evening, and of her not feeling so well as 
usual in consequence. 

Poor Sir Michael, with a frown of discomfit- 
ure on his face, had come in by the window a 
few seconds after Oswin had gone out, and had 
been twitted by the spiteful Beckingham on 
his confusion. To increase Sir Michael’s un- 
easiness, he could see through the window that 
Oswin remained on the terrace chatting and 
laughing with Gladys. 

Mrs. Cray, perfectly satisfied with this 
changed position of affairs, was still talking to 
Hendon, whose lively manners pleased her. 

“ Sorry I can’t give you a lift, O’Keeffe,” 


A Truce. 193 

said Power, on his vray to the door. “ But I 
only brought the gig this evening.” 

“You can be giving him a lift all the same,” 
interrupted Hendon, briskly. “ I remember 
the way we came, and I should like to walk.” 

Monica raised her eyes in alarm, and 
lowered them again immediately. She lost 
not one word of what Hendon said. 

“ Would you really ? ” said Power. “ Then 
I can take you, O’Keeffe.” He turned to Mar- 
tin. “ Laffan, I want you to see my new 
mare. I think you’ll like the look of her.” 

“ All right,” said Martin, “ we’ll go round to 
the stables and see her put in. Will you 
come too, Monica?” His voice grew soft as 
he addressed her. “ I know you love horses.” 

But she shrank away, making some mur- 
mured excuse about feeling cold, and Martin 
drew back, looking pained and surprised. 
Old Mrs. Laffan came to the rescue. 

“Yes, of course she’ll come,” said she, going 
up to Monica and drawing her arm through 
hers. “ It isn't really cold at all, child. And 
going out into the air will do you more good 
than harm. We’ll all come, won’t we?” 

And she turned to the two other ladies. 

“Oh, yes, I adore animals,” said Mrs. Cray, 
“and so does Glad — ” 

But at that moment she glanced through 
the window and perceived that her younger 
13 


194 The Plain Miss Cray. 

daughter was talking very earnestly to Oswin, 
and she stopped short and turned away, with- 
out finishing her sentence. 

“Shall I call Miss Gladys, Mrs. Cray?” 
asked Beckingham, officiously. 

“ No, no, no, never mind,” replied the good 
lady, quickly. “Come, Ethel.” 

And Ethel, who was secretly maddened 
by seeing how transparent these little ruses 
were, and how much amusement they gave to 
everybody else, followed her mother out of 
the room, they and the whole party leaving 
for the stables. 

No sooner was the room empty than Gladys 
ran in by the window and, looking out through 
the doorway into the corridor with straining 
eyes, caught sight of Sir Michael, who was the 
last of the party. With a little grimace, which 
made her pretty face look prettier, she then 
turned to Oswin, who had followed her in by 
the window. 

“ Oh, Mr. Smith,” she lisped out, softly, 
“ would you just see if I’ve dropped my rose 
on the terrace ? I’ve lost it somewhere.” 

“ Certainly,” said Oswin. 

And he retreated at once by the way he had 
come. 

For a few seconds Gladys was left by her- 
self ; and as she stood looking askance through 
the open door into the comparative darkness 


A Truce. 


195 

of the corridor, a little look of anxiety began 
to pucker up her features. For Sir Michael, 
though he had looked back at the sound of 
her voice, and though he had slackened his 
pace, appeared at first unwilling to accept the 
invitation her eyes gave him. 

It was not until she had turned her back 
sharply, and made as if she would return to 
the terrace, that the baronet slowly returned 
to the drawing-room. Gladys turned to him 
at once with a little sigh of relief. 

“ Do you know — I almost thought — you 
weren’t coming ? ” said she, softly. 

She was irresistible. Sir Michael had to speak. 

“ What did you want to be staying out there 
with that fellow Smith for ? ” growled he. 

Gladys laughed softly to herself, enjoying 
her own astuteness. 

“Well, I thought perhaps — it would make 
you come back— to see what I wanted to do 
it for ! ’’ 

Sir Michael gave her one look, and was van- 
quished. Then he plucked up heart and took 
his revenge. 

“Sure, I’ll not be fetched back for noth- 
ing,’’ said he. 

And before the startled girl guessed wdiat 
he was about to do, he seized her, turned her 
face up to his own and kissed her full on her 
pretty little mouth. 


196 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

“Oh ! oh ! oh ! ” cried Gladys. 

Sir Michael would not let her go. 

“ Sure, now, don’t pretend you’ve never 
been kissed before, Gladys,” said he, half 
angrily. 

Gladys held herself back, though she did 
not get away. She was trembling a good deal, 
and a momentary flush had left her face, which 
was now very pale. 

“ I don’t say — I’ve never been kissed,” she 
gasped out in a low voice. “ But — I’ve — I’ve 
— I’ve never liked it.” 

“Do you mean you like it now ?” 

Nobody could have overheard these words, 
nor the answer, — 

“ I — well, I don’t mind.” 

So Sir Michael kissed her again ; and before 
he let her go Ethel came quietly to the open 
door. 

Gladys was the first to catch sight of her 
sister. With a gasping breath of terror, she 
drew herself quickly away from the forbidden 
embrace. 

“ Good-by, Sir Michael,” she said, primly. 

The baronet glanced round, and looked 
rather relieved on discovering that the intruder 
was only Ethel, and not her mother. 

“ Good-by, Miss Gladys,” said he. And 
then, with an imploring look, he added hum- 
bly, “ Good-by, Miss Cray.” 


A Truce. 


197 

Miss Cray replied only by a little bend of 
the head,, and Sir Michael went out rather 
mournfully. 

Then Ethel sat down deliberately on the 
settle and crossed her feet and folded her hands. 

“ Mama has sent me to see what you were 
doing. Am I to tell her ?” 

Gladys, who had been standing in the middle 
of the room like a naughty child, plucked up 
a spirit and answered defiantly, — 

“ You can do as you like. I know I’ve got 
to be married to please mama; but I’ll just 
be kissed to please myself.” 

And having thus thrown down the glove, 
she had not the courage to wait for her chal- 
lenge to be taken up, but ran out of the room, 
panting with excitement and fear. 

Ethel unclasped her hands, and clasped 
them again, in great distress. Then she turned 
round towards the fire, put her elbow on her 
knee and her head in her hand, and had just 
drawn a long sigh when a footstep inside the 
window startled her. She jumped up, and 
found herself face to face with Oswin, who had 
come in quietly from the terrace. 

“You saw — ” were the words which involun- 
tarily escaped her lips. 

“ I did,” replied Oswin, with quiet triumph. 

“ And you thought, I suppose — ” began 
Ethel, sharply. 


198 The Plain Miss Cray. 

Oswin interrupted her. 

“Yes, I couldn’t help thinking.” Then he 
paused. “ I thought, for one thing, that it 
was a pity you didn’t bestow upon Sir Michael 
some of those warnings on the subject of Miss 
Gladys with which you were good enough to 
honor me.” 

By this time Ethel had recovered all her 
coolness. 

“ Sir Michael fell in love and couldn’t help 
himself,” said she. “ No warning can save a 
man from that.” 

Oswin looked surprised. 

“ Might I not have done the same ? ” asked 
he, very coldly. 

“ No, your affections were engaged.” 

“ I suppose,” said Oswin, nettled, “ you 
think me incapable of falling in love with any- 
one but myself ?” 

“ What does it matter what I think — to you ? 
We are in the delightful position of having 
such a bad opinion of each other that neither 
need care what the other thinks.” 

And she seated herself again on the settle 
with the air of one who is tired of the conver- 
sation. 

There was a long pause. From where she 
sat she could not see Oswin, but she could 
hear him moving about softly. He seemed 
unable to decide exactly where he should sit 


A Truce. 


199 

or where he should stand, whether he should 
stay or whether he should go away. 

And at last he stood quite still. 

“ You began it,” said he. 

Ethel affected to start, as if she had forgot- 
ten the fact of his presence. 

“ Oh, don’t pretend you didn’t know I was 
here,” said Oswin, crossly. “ You began it, I 
say ! ” 

Ethel answered with an air of weariness, — 

“ We needn’t discuss that. I think you — 
well, you know what I think of you. You 
think me hard and vulgar.” Oswin started, 
and made an attempt to protest. “ Oh, why 
not ? You have a right to think what you 
please. And even if you do your thinking 
aloud it doesn’t hurt me.” 

“ Well, if I ever said such a thing, we prob- 
ably don’t mean the same thing by it. Now, 
what do you mean by a vulgar woman ? ” 

“ Well,” said Ethel, after a pause, “ I call a 
woman vulgar who gets more attention than 
myself.” 

“ But that isn’t anything so very dreadful, is 
it ? ” asked Oswin. 

Ethel uttered a sound ■which was like a 
smothered laugh. 

“ / think it is — shocking !” 

“Well, then, you see I was right,” retorted 
Oswin, triumphantly. “ For you certainly 


200 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

contrive to get more attention from me than 
all the other ladies put together.” 

“ But yours is the sort of attention I could 
very well do without ! ” 

“ You should be more civil then.” 

Ethel gave him a comic glance of horror. 

“ I really couldn’t — to you ! ” 

“ You haven’t tried,” objected Oswin, 
gravely, as he ventured to seat himself on the 
arm of the settee on the opposite side of the 
fireplace. “ It’s most awfully easy, when 
you’ve once begun. Think of me,” he went 
on, in a tone which was half persuasive, and 
almost diffident, “as a fellow human being, 
who, after years of cold water, has suddenly 
had poured down his throat a long draught of 
wine, which has got into his head. A fellow 
who, after knocking about the world third- 
class, suddenly finds himself able to afford a 
special train ! ” 

Ethel shook her head with the same sort of 
gravity as his. 

“ There’s no greater hardship in going third- 
class than in traveling by special,” said she, 
sententiously ; “ it’s much harder to do as we 
do, and travel through life first-class on a third- 
class ticket ! ” 

Oswin looked up suddenly, with quick ap- 
preciation of the notion. 

“ By Jove, I hadn’t thought of that! ” said he. 


A Truce. 


201 


Ethel rose and went towards the door. 

“ When you’ve got used to that wine you 
spoke of, you’ll see a lot of things clearly that 
you see double now.” 

“ I believe I’m getting sober already,” said 
Oswin, following her. And then he hesitated, 
and looked at her askance, speaking in a dif- 
ferent tone. “ I saw very clearly the way you 
snatched up that note, and refused to give it 
to Laffan.” 

Ethel started and looked at him anxiously. 

“ Did you ? ” escaped her lips involuntarily. 
Then at once she changed her tone, and spoke 
lightly. “Oh, well, there was nothing in it.” 

Oswin laughed, but without much indication 
of amusement. 

“ Oh, no. There’s never anything in a note 
which causes a lady to faint — from the heat of 
the room.” And then he added softly, “ Poor 
Martin ! ” 

“ Poor Monica !” retorted Ethel. 

“ Well,” said Oswin, condescendingly, “ I 
don’t blame you for taking the woman’s 
part.” 

“Don’t you, indeed? That’s very good of 
you ! ” said Ethel. 

Oswin looked at her for a moment with a 
perfectly grave face. Then he went to the 
fireplace, picked up the brass poker, tied his 
handkerchief to the end of it, and came back 


202 The Plain Miss Cray. 

to the middle of the room, waving it over his 
head. 

Ethel stifled a laugh. 

“ Flag of truce?” asked she. Oswin nod- 
ded. “ All right.” 

“ Mind, I don’t want a long peace,” he 
carefully explained. “ It’s too monotonous. 
But simply an armistice to look to our killed 
and wounded.” 

“ Killed and wounded ?” repeated Ethel, a 
little puzzled. 

“ Yes. You to young Mrs. Martin, and I to 
her husband. In the eternal war of the sexes, 
which you and I are conducting with so much 
spirit, they have both, I think, got some ugly 
wounds. Of course, Martin deserves his for 
his asinine folly in getting married at all.” 
Ethel turned quickly, ready to protest. But 
he put up his hand. “ Sh — sh ! But still, it’s 
my business, as a good general, to try to set him 
on his legs again. You on your side have got 
to see that your forces don’t — run away.” 

Ethel started, in real alarm and consternation 
this time. 

“ What do you mean ? ” cried she, breath- 
lessly. “What do you know f" 

Oswin replied steadily and with great delib- 
eration, — 

“ I know that Mr. Laffan is troubled, that 
Mrs. Laffan is ill ; and all about a note. 


A Truce. 


203 


That’s all.” His manner changed. He put 
down the poker, and came a little nearer to 
the girl, with real concern peeping through his 
habitual nonchalance of tone and of movement. 
“ But you know more. Now, I love Martin, 
and I’d give my hand to see him happy. And 
I can do nothing. But you can. He came 
nearer still, and spoke more and more earnestly. 
“ You can get hold of the rest of the trouble — 
the woman. Now since he’s idiot enough to 
care for her, I want you to point out to her 
what a brick he is, and drive her into treating 
him as he deserves.” 

Ethel was touched. The tears gathered in 
her eyes, as she shook her head sorrowfully. 

“ I can’t,” said she. “ If you know too little, 
I know too much. Do you see ? ” She paused 
a moment, trying to command her voice, for 
she was much moved by his earnestness. 
“ Good night,” said she, at last, in a subdued 
way, not at all like her usual manner. 

And she went with bent head to the door. 

“ Good night,” said Oswin. Then he 
coughed, and said in a low voice, " Won’t you 
shake hands ? ” 

She raised her head, and tried to look de- 
fiant. But it was a poor attempt. 

“Well, then, only during the armistice," 
said she, at last. 

And she gave him her hand. 


204 The Plain Miss Cray. 

“ Am I still an insufferable cad ? ” asked 
Oswin, as he detained her hand. 

She summoned her energies ; for this, she 
held, was a mean attempt to administer a sharp 
thrust under cover of the white flag. 

“ No. A sufferable one,” said she. 

The next moment she could have bitten her 
tongue out with remorse ; for the young man 
drew back, stung to the quick, and she herself 
went out, uneasy and ashamed of herself. 

No, decidedly she should not have said 
that. 


A Quiet Pipe. 


205 


CHAPTER XVI. 

A QUIET PIPE. 

Ethel felt so guilty that she waited a 
moment, with her hand on the half-open door, 
inclined to turn back and apologize for what 
she had said. 

At that moment, however, she felt the door 
yielding under her hand, and she stepped back 
in time to make way for Martin Laffan, who 
looked much surprised as he glanced from the 
one to the other. His big Newfoundland dog. 
Rover, ran past him into the room ; and Ethel 
with a hasty good-night, went quickly down 
the corridor, leaving the two men together. 

“ Hallo ! ” cried Martin. “ Did my eyes de- 
ceive me, or did I see you two shake hands ? ” 

“ You did,” answered Oswin, angry and 
mortified, “ but, by Jove, you won’t see me 
doing it again ! ” He paused a moment to 
steady his voice a little, but his hand shook as 
he took out his cigar-case. 

“ Where are the others ? All gone to bed ?” 
he then asked, in a tone as much like his or- 
dinary voice as he could manage, 


2 o 6 The Plain Miss Cray. 

“Yes,” said Martin, perceiving that the 
matter he had broached was an unpleasant 
one. “ Have a pipe with me ; I always finish 
up the day in here like this.” 

And he sat down by the fire and took out 
his pipe, while the dog settled himself comfort- 
ably on the rug at his feet. 

“ No thanks, old chap,” said Oswin. “ I’m off 
to bed.” 

And nodding good-night, he left the room. 

Martin leaned his head on his hands, in an 
attitude of deep dejection, and began idly rak- 
ing out the ashes of the fire, wdth his unlighted 
pipe between his teeth. The dog roused him, 
by pricking his ears, looking round with a low 
growl, and finally rising to his feet. 

“ What is it, old man, eh ?” asked Martin, 
as he struck a match and lighted his pipe. 
Rover growled again, went to the window, and 
began to sniff. “ Burglars, eh. Rover ?” The 
dog barked sullenly. 

Martin looked round, and before he could 
speak again, there came a light tap at the 
door. 

“ That’s not a burglar. Rover,” said he. And 
then he called, “Come in.” 

The door opened softly, and the pretty little 
face of Gladys, troubled and even slightly tear- 
stained, appeared in the opening. 

“ Oh, Mr. Laffan, may I speak to you ?” 


A Quiet Pipe. 207 

Martin got up and came down to her, much 
surprised. 

“ My dear child, yes, of course you ma}'’. 
Why, what’s the matter ? ” 

The girl struck him as strangely altered from 
the frivolous little butterfly she usually ap- 
peared to be. She was grave and earnest, and 
the traces of tears, instead of spoiling her face, 
gave it a new interest. 

“ Oh, Mr. Laffan, I want j'^ou to speak to 
mama ! ” 

Martin, who was offering her a chair, stopped 
short in surprise, with the rail in his hand. 
Gladys would not take the chair, but went up 
to the fireplace, and sat down on a low stool 
on the hearthrug, looking into the fire with a 
very melancholy expression. 

“To mama ! ’’ echoed he, and his face fell. 
“ Oh, dear ” — he put down the chair, and 
began to walk about — “ dear, dear ! About 
O’Keeffe, I suppose?” 

“ Yes,” said Gladys. “ Oh, Mr. Laffan, you 
know him awfully well, and you like him, don’t 
you ? Can’t you persuade mama to let — to let 
me marry him ?” 

Martin rubbed his chin doubtfully. 

“Well, you see, mama’s such an awfully 
difficult person to persuade to anything ! And 
when it comes to such a hobby of hers as your 
paarriage — why, my dear child. I’m sure she 


2o8 The Plain Miss Cray. 

wouldn’t listen to me if she wouldn’t listen to 
you ! ” 

“Oh, what shall I do, then?” wailed the 
girl, disconsolately. “ Mama’s angry because 
he talked to me this evening, and she says ” — 
Gladys sobbed — “ she says — if I don’t promise 
not to speak to him again, she’ll take us back 
to town the day after to-morrow ! Yet he’s 
ready to do anything to please her. He says 
he’ll buy a dress-coat ! ” 

And conscious that this was a great conces- 
sion on her lover’s part, Gladys clasped her 
hands, and turned an earnest face to her 
listener. 

“ Good gracious ! ” murmured Martin. 

He remembered at this juncture that he had 
forgotten to put out his pipe, and removing it 
hastily from his mouth, he was about to knock 
the ashes out against the side of the mantel- 
piece, when the young girl checked him by 
saying, in a low voice, — 

“ No. Don’t put down your pipe. I like it. 
It reminds me of Michael.” 

“ Oh, what a wife you’d make ! ” cried Mar- 
tin, in ecstasy. “I can understand O’Keeffe’s 
infatuation now ! ” 

“ And can’t you understand mine too ?” 
asked Gladys, ingenuously. 

Martin smiled. 

Well, hardly. He’s a dear old chap ; but 


209 


A Quiet Pipe. 

I should have thought a dainty little Dresden 
china maiden like you would like somebody 
more polished, more like the men you meet 
in town.” 

“ I hate the men I meet in town,” cried 
Gladys, emphatically. “ When I talk to them 
I have to be acting— acting all the time. Mama 
says, ‘ Be frivolous ; it suits your style.’ Buti 
Mr. Laffan ’ — and Gladys addressed him in 
such an earnest voice that he stopped short in 
his walk up and down and watched as he list- 
ened to her — “ I’m not frivolous, not a bit. I 
hate balls and garden parties and the feeling 
that I’m on sale, and that I’m dressed up better 
than mama can afford just in the hope of catch- 
ing a bidder’s eye. I should like to live in 
the country,” she went on eagerly, “ and potter 
about the poultry-yard with a basket on my 
arm, and then — and then go indoors and darn 
socks.” 

“ Provided they were Michael’s socks ! ” put 
in Martin half gravely, but with a smile hover- 
ing about his mouth. 

“ Ye-es, but don’t laugh at me. It seems 
such a modest wish to have, and yet I can’t 
have it ! ” 

Now Martin, although he had listened to her 
with only a half-serious air, had really been 
giving his mind to the attentive consideration 
of her case ; and as he thought it over, some- 
14 


210 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

thing that seemed like a ray of light shot 
through his brain. He brightened up into 
sudden alertness. 

“ Well, well,” he said briskly, “ don’t despair. 
I— I almost think it might be managed.” He 
paused a moment, and then went on more 
cautiously. “ I suppose if one of you two 
w'ere to make a brilliant marriage, mama would 
be satisfied, eh ? ” 

Gladys stared in wonder. 

“ Oh — oh, yes,” said she. “ But ” — her voice 
sank to a mysterious whisper — “ but is there any 
chance that Ethel — ” 

And she rose from her footstool, as if afraid 
that the wonderful thing they were discussing 
might carry itself on the air to indiscreet ears 
unseen. 

Martin came up to her and raised his fore- 
finger in warning. 

“ Hush ! Don’t breathe so much as a 
whisper of this to anybody, anybody, mind ! 
But don’t give up hope. And — and be sure 
I’ll say a word to Mrs. Cray that’ll keep her 
here as long as we like.” 

“ Oh, you don’t mean it ! Really ! really ! ” 
cried the girl, her eyes sparkling with joyous 
excitement. 

“ I do mean it, really, really. And now you 
must run away upstairs as quickly and as 
quietly as you can. If we were to be caught 


2II 


A Quiet Pipe, 

down here at this time of night we should both 
lose our characters.” 

Gladys laughed as she gratefully shook his 
hand, 

“ No, Mr. Laffan, you’re too good,” said sl>e, 
confidently. 

Still holding her hand, Martin turned sud- 
denly towards a small door at the end of the 
room. It had been opened very quickly, very 
noiselessly ; and Monica, with a light wrap on 
her arm, had advanced some steps, making for 
the window, before she perceived, on coming 
round the high screen that stood round the 
fireplace, that she was not alone in the room. 

“ Monica ! why, what’s the matter ? ” cried 
Martin. 

She grew very white as she glanced from 
him to Gladys. 

“ I— I thought I heard — ” she began in some 
confusion. Then she drew a long breath, and 
said in a more assured voice, “ I didn’t feel 
sleepy, so I thought I’d come down here and 
read for a little while. I thought everybody 
had gone upstairs. I didn’t mean to disturb 
you,” she added in an offended tone. 

“ Oh, Monica, don’t speak like that. It’s 
silly,” cried Gladys. “ I only came to ask Mr. 
Laffan to help Michael and me with mama.” 

“ Oh— oh, yes,” said Monica, in a dreamy 
vpice, as if she hardly heard. 


212 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

And she went quickly back to the door at 
the end of the room, by which she had entered. 

Gladys nodded good-night to Martin, rather 
frightened, and ran away by the other door. 
He followed Monica up the room. 

“ I’m going upstairs this moment,” said he, 
“ so that you’ll have the room to 3'^ourself.” 
Still she went on, not heeding him, till she had 
almost reached the door. Then he stopped 
her, seizing the wrap she was carrying. This 
action disturbed her for the moment, but the 
next, she made another movement in the 
direction of the narrow staircase, which the 
open door disclosed. 

“ Aren’t you satisfied when I tell you that 
you’ll have the room to yourself ? ” repeated 
he. 

Monica stopped and looked down, much 
agitated. 

“ But — I — I — I don’t wantto drive you away,” 
said she. 

He came up to the door and shut it gently, 

“Well, if I don’t want to drive you away, 
and — and if 3'ou don’t want to drive me away, 
need we drive each other away at all ? ” He 
took a step towards her, at which she turned 
and came down the room in a nervous and 
hesitating manner, glancing furtively at the 
windows. “ Monica, if that story of Hendon’s 
should be true — if O’Hara is dead — ” 


213 


A Quiet Pipe. 

Monica interrupted him sharply. 

“ He’s not dead.” Then she glanced at him 
with fear in her eyes, and went on in a more 
subdued tone, “ I — I should have heard of it. 
His mother would have known. It must have 
been another man of the same name, another 
Derrick O’Hara.” 

“ Hardly. These coincidences don’t hap- 
pen.” Then a suspicion shot into his mind. 
“ This Hendon — is he a friend of O’Hara’s ? A 
messenger from him ? ” 

“ Why don’t you suggest that he is Derrick 
O’Hara himself ? ” said Monica, with sudden 
calm. 

“ I’m not quite a fool,” said Martin, scorn- 
fully. “ Do you think you could meet a man 
you loved, in my presence, without my know- 
ing it? Do you think you wouldn’t betray 
yourself to me, the very first time your eyes 
met his ? Why, Monica, you never look at 
another man without my eyes following yours, 
jealous of every glance.” 

She retreated in alarm from his impassioned 
advance, and held out her hands, imploring 
him to restrain himself. 

“Oh, but it’s wrong, silly,” cried she, 
“ when Fm not your wife, when I'm nothing 
to you ! ” 

“Nothing to me but the light of my eyes, 
the breath of my nostrils,” cried he, passion- 


214 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

ately. “ Nothing to me but the creature whose 
presence makes the dark days full of sunshine, 
the bright days a revelation of heaven ! ” 
Nothing to me but the opening of a new life ; 
nothing to me but the woman I love ! ” 

He had come nearer and nearer to her, until 
at last he was speaking close to her ear, hovering 
over her with looks and tones full of passion- 
ate love. Monica listened as if spellbound, 
and although she kept her head turned away, 
her eyes were shining with a rapturous delight. 
At last his hand lightly touched her, and she 
sprang away with a little cry. 

“ Oh, don’t touch me, don’t come near me,” 
wailed she. “ You don’t know what you’re 
doing ! ” 

Martin’s eyes shot fire. 

“ Monica, you love me ! ” cried he. 

But she shook her head and hid her eyes. 

“ Love you ? Ho w dare you say so ? ” gasped 
she, at last daring to look up. “ Don’t I tell 
you not to come near me ? ” 

“You say so with your lips,” cried Martin, 
hotly, pressing ever nearer and nearer to her, 
“ but in your eyes I can read an invitation. 
Monica, you married me of your own free will.” 

“ No, no,” sobbed she, faintly. 

“And while you wished,” pleaded he, “ I 
left you to yourself. But now that you’re 
ready to yield, now that your own heart 


215 


A Quiet Pipe. 

speaks for the man who loves you, why do you 
fight against yourself ? Remember, you’re 
my wife already, in the sight of the world, and 
by all the laws of heaven.” 

“ Don’t talk tome about the laws of heaven,” 
replied Monica, passionately. “ I don’t know 
anything about the laws of heaven. But I 
know that as long as Derrick O’Hara lives, I’m 
his wife. 

“ You forgot that,” retorted Martin, “when 
you let me marry you.” 

“ I didn’t forget it,” cried Monica, pit- 
eously. “ I didn’t forget anything. I was like 
a miserable, weak slave, who lets herself be sold, 
not knowing that she has a right to protest.” 

“ You felt that ? I made you feel that ? ” 

“No, no.” With a sudden change of voice, 
Monica turned quickly towards him, her face 
full of gratitude, of humble entreaty. “ From 
the moment that we walked out of the little 
church that morning I was in a new world, the 
world that men like you make for the women 
that belong to them, mothers, sisters, daughters, 
wives. A world full of tender kindness, and 
gentleness, and chivalry. And something — 
conscience, I suppose, or soul — something 
woke up in me then, and I felt that I couldn’t 
deceive you, couldn’t go on smiling into your 
face and living a lie. And I meant to run 
away as soon as we got here.” 


2 i 6 The Plain Miss Cray. 

“ To run away without a word of explana- 
tion ! ” cried Martin, appalled. 

“What good has explanation done ?” asked 
she, piteously. “ Shall I leave you now any 
happier than I should have left you then ? ” 

Martin clenched his fists. 

“Leave me now ? ” He came towards her 
again. “ Oh, but you won’t, you can’t. If 
you don’t love me, you can trust me.” 

She turned to him with a sad look in her 
big brown eyes. 

“ I can trust you ; I can’t trust myself,” 
said she, simply. Then it was she who ap- 
proached him, and enlacing the fingers of her 
right hand in those of her left, she whispered, 
.“Oh, have pity on me, and help me to do 
what is right. I’m not clever ; I can’t persuade 
myself into this or that. I only know that I 
did wrong, terrible wrong once, in marry- 
ing you ; and that now I’m sorry, and want 
to do right. Oh, help me, help me ! ” 

Martin looked at her with dull eyes. 

“ How am I to help you ?” asked he. 

She looked down at her clasped hands and 
wrung them afresh. 

“ Say — good-by,” said she, brokenly. 

Martin started. 

“ Good-by ! Now ! ” He paused, and 
then he understood something of what was 
happening, though not all. “ That note you 


2l7 


A Quiet Pipe. 

got to-night was a summons ? ” She bowed 
her head without looking up. “Very well. 
I can’t detain you ; as you say, I have no right, 
no right at all.” Monica sank down in a chair 
and covered her face with her hands. He did 
not come near her again. “ To-morrow 
morning, then, you’ll be gone ? ” He went 
slowly down to the door, having got no an- 
swer but her silence. But he could not leave 
her yet ; and presently he turned back, and bent 
over her, with a hovering hand outstretched 
close to her brown hair. She heard him, felt 
him, and sprang up, looking towards the win- 
dow. A spasm of horrible pain contorted 
Martin’s face, and he drew back quickly, mut- 
tering hoarsely, “ Good-by, Monica ! ” 

In a stifled voice she said, “ Good-by.” 

He waited for a moment, hoping that she 
would give him another word, another look. 
But she did not dare. So he walked down to 
the door, lingering yet another few seconds, 
hoping against hope. 

But, putting strong constraint upon herself, 
Monica kept her head bent and her hands up 
to her face till the door had closed. Then she 
just looked up, and held out her arms, without 
one word, but with a world of sad and hopeless 
longing for the tender love she had had to 
reject and repulse. 

Then she stood up, smiling drearily to her- 


2 i 8 The Plain Miss Cray. 

self and at her own folly, and picking up the 
wrap which Martin had laid on a table, put it 
round her, and went straight to the nearest 
window. 

She had scarcely lifted the latch when a 
man’s hand was thrust in from outside, and she 
was pushed back into the room. The little 
smiling face and curly head of Mr. Hendon 
next appeared. He put his finger on his lips 
to enforce silence, and shut himself into the 
room with her. 


Misunderstandings. 


219 


CHAPTER XVII. 

MISUNDERSTANDINGS. 

When Martin left the drawing-room, he was 
brought to a sudden standstill half way down 
the winding corridor which led to the billiard- 
room, by a violent collision with the person of 
Mrs. Cray, who came out without warning 
from a narrow passage that led to the back 
staircase. 

“ I — I beg your pardon,” cried Martin, taken 
aback. 

Mrs. Cray, who was in her dressing-gown, 
had uttered a little suppressed scream. 

“Anything the matter ?” said Martin, as the 
lady looked at him fixedly, in a suspicious 
manner. 

“ I’m very much worried,” said Mrs. Cray, 
at last, fretfully, “ about my daughter.” 

“Which one ?” asked Martin, incautiously. 

She stared at him with more suspicion than 
before. 

“ Oh, I think you know,” she said at last, 
with pursed lips. “ I don’t think any one would 
accuse Ethel of an indiscretion.” 


220 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

“ No, certainly not. Nor the little one 
either,” responded Martin, heartily. “ They’ve 
both been far too well brought up.” 

Mrs. Cray looked at him askance, at first in- 
clined to be molified by this adroit compli- 
ment. On second thoughts, however, she 
pursed up her mouth again. 

“ I’ve done my best to bring them up well, 
I know,” she said, rather severely. “ But un- 
happily I find my efforts thwarted by persons, 
no doubt well meaning, but who cannot have 
so clear an understanding of what is best for 
my girls as I, their mother, have.” 

Martin began to feel uncomfortable. It was 
plain that he had fallen himself under the ban 
of the good lady’s displeasure. 

“No one would dispute that you know what 
is best for them,” he said, with all the hearti- 
ness he could muster. 

“ And you will understand. I’m sure,” she 
went on, “ that it is not from lack of apprecia- 
tion of your hospitality that I have decided to 
take my girls back to London the day after to- 
morrow.” 

Martin saw that she had made discoveries. 
He affected a blank and bland air of innocence 
and surprise. 

“ So soon ! I’m really sorry to hear that. 
Uncommonly sorry ! Especially as — ” He 
stopped short, with an ostentatious air of 


Misunderstandings. 221 

having gone a little further than he had in- 
tended. 

As he had hoped, Mrs. Cray looked rather 
curious. 

“ What special reason liave you for feeling 
sorry, Mr. Laffan ? ” asked she. 

“ Oh, well, it’s nothing. As you say, you 
must know what is best for your daughters. 
And after all, Oswin Smith is, of course—” 
Again he broke off, and held out his hand with 
a smile. “ Well, I ought not to keep you 
talking here in the draught, ought I ? I can 
only say again that I wish you had been stay- 
ing longer, and that I hope you’ll come again 
next year. Will you, now ?” 

Mrs. Cray had not taken his hand. She was 
beginning to look anxious. 

“ Er— er — thank you, thank you very much. 
Er — by-the-bye, what was that you were say- 
ing about — er — about Mr. Smith ? ” 

“ Oh, nothing of any consequence. Indeed 
I think the less one talks about these things, 
when they’re only in the bud, you know, the 
better. Don’t you agree with me ? Anyhow, 
it’s all ‘ off ’ now that you’re going away, even 
if there was anything in it. I’m sorry I opened 
my mouth at all about it.” 

And again the artful Martin affected to be 
anxious to get away. 

Mrs. Cray, however, was obdurate. 


222 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

“ I’m sure, Mr. Laffan, you know too well 
how deeply anxious I feel about my daughters’ 
happiness and welfare not to tell me anything 
concerning them which you may have noticed. 
Won’t you explain a little ? ” 

And she led the way to the billiard-room. 
Martin, still pretending to be reluctant to speak 
out, followed her, shut the door, and lit a 
couple of candles. 

“ Now,” said she, seating herself with the 
air of bringing him to book, “ please tell me 
what you mean ? ” 

“ Really, Mrs. Cray, I didn’t mean any- 
thing,” said Martin, plunging his hands into 
his pockets and staring up at the ceiling. 
“ It’s a sort of betrayal for me to say anything 
about it. But I certainly thought, from what 
I saw when I came in this evening and inter- 
rupted your daughter and Oswin Smith — ” 

Mrs. Cray started. 

“ Then it was Oswin she came down to see ? 
Not Sir Michael Laffan.” 

Martin saw in a moment how matters stood. 
Mrs. Cray had found out that Gladys had left 
her room after retiring for the night, and had 
promptly concluded that she had gone down 
to keep an appointment with O’Keeffe, whom 
she supposed to be lingering near the house on 
purpose. He was quick to take advantage of 
this mistake, the more so that something might 


Misunderstandings. 223 

really come of the temporary reconciliation 
between Oswin and Ethel, which would cer- 
tainly advance much better if Mrs. Cray could 
be misled into thinking that Gladys and not 
Ethel was the object of Oswin’s attention. 

If Mrs. Cray were to understand that there 
was the least chance of her plain daughter 
making a good match, she would, he argued to 
himself, be so excited by the notion that she 
would promptly proceed to spoil everything 
by her usual over-anxious tactics. 

“ It was certainly not O’Keeffe your daugh- 
ter came down to see,” said Martin, carefully 
avoiding mention of any particular daughter’s 
name. “O’Keeffe’s been gone ages ago ; he 
went with Power.” 

“ And — and what was it you fancied — you 
saw?” pursued Mrs. Cray, with ill-concealed 
eagerness. “ Of course I’ll be discreet. But 
knowing how anxious I feel, I should be very 
grateful if you’d tell me.” 

Of course I’ll tell you ; the more so that 
it doesn’t matter now you’re all going away,” 
said Martin, readily. “ After all, it doesn’t 
amount to much.” Mrs. Cray’s face fell. “It 
was only that, when I went to the drawing- 
room with my pipe, I found Smith and your 
daughter there, shaking hands, at the end of 
what must have been a very, very interesting 
conversation, to judge by their earnest looks.” 


224 The Plain Miss Cray, 

Mrs. Cray was struck dumb for the space 
of ten seconds. 

“ To think of her never having told me ! ” 
she gasped at last. 

“And if I were you,” said Martin, promptly, 
“ I should copy her discretion. The girl is 
sensible enough to know that these things 
shouldn’t be put into words too soon,” 

Mrs. Cray could only nod her head sub- 
missively. She began to feel that she was a 
fool compared to her own child. 

“ But — but I don’t understand,” she ven- 
tured at last. “ Why shouldn’t she have 
spoken out when I was scolding her ? Why 
shouldn’t she have told me the truth ? ” 

“ Perhaps you frightened her,” suggested 
Martin, shrewdly. “ So that she just contented 
herself with saying that it wasn’t Sir Michael 
she was talking to.” 

‘‘Yes, that's just what she did say,” admitted 
Mrs, Cray. “ Except that, when I pressed 
her, she said it was you, Mr, Lafian, that she 
went down to talk to. And when I asked her 
what she was talking about, she hesitated, and 
evaded the question. I see ; she was afraid I 
should speak to you myself to-morrow, and find 
her out.” 

“ Very likely,” said Martin, getting a little 
bewildered by the mesh of deception he was 
weaving round himself. “ Now take my advice 


Misunderstandings. 225 

and don’t worry her with any more questions. 
And, if you should decide to go away the day 
after to-morrow — ” 

“ Well, I’ll think it over,” broke in Mrs. 
Cray, hastily. “ Since you’re so kind as to 
wish us to stay on, perhaps I’ll let the girls 
talk me over.” 

She looked very graciously upon Martin as 
she shook hands with him and went upstairs. 

Poor Martin smiled a little at the lady’s sim- 
ple cunning, and at the ease with which he 
had got her to swallow the bait he had held 
before her eyes. 

But the smile died quickly from his lips, for 
he was face to face with questions of far deeper 
import to him, and was approaching, as he felt 
sure, one of the most momentous crises of his 
life. 

That Monica had by this time left the shelter 
of his roof he felt sure. Loving this weak but 
affectionate woman with a deep and strong 
passion, Martin had forgiven her long ago for 
the wrong she had at the outset been per- 
suaded, by stronger natures, to do to him. All 
through the five weeks during which she had 
lived under his roof, his heart had been wrung 
by her constant and piteous attempt to atone 
for her wrong-doing, by working with her own 
hands and with her watchful eyes to promote 
the comfort of himself and his guests. 

15 


226 The Plain Miss Cray. 

Sure as he had been that Derrick O’Hara 
would be heard of sooner or later, the news 
that he had held communication with Monica, 
by means of the letter she had received that 
night, had come upon Martin Laffan with a 
great and horrible shock. It had begun to 
seem possible that some other way out of the 
difficulties they were in would be found than 
that of Monica’s departure. 

Now that he realized that she must go, 
therefore, other problems had come to add 
their weight to the burdens on his heart and 
mind. 

What should he say to his guests next 
morning to account for her disappearance ? 
A-fter long deliberation he decided to take 
counsel with Oswin on this point. That 
shrewd young man must certainly have guessed 
that all was not right in the household ; and 
even a qualihed confidence would find him 
ready with advice dictated by good sense and 
knowledge of the world. 

There was a second point of great difficulty. 
Martin felt certain that, even if Hendon were 
not, as he suspected, an emissary of Der- 
rick’s, that rascal was now in Ireland. He had 
not thought it fair to interrogate Monica upon 
that point ; but the fact that she was apparently 
preparing to leave the house with nothing 
more substantial by the way of outdoor cloth- 


Misunderstandings. 227 

ing than a woolen wrap, seemed to suggest 
that Derrick was somewhere very near at 
hand, waiting for her. 

Now Martin had promised Monica not to 
pursue Derrick if he were innocent of the 
crime of killing Captain Malcolm. She had 
later, when her own belief in Derrick’s inno- 
cence failed, tried to persuade him to abandon 
pursuit of Derrick, even if he were really the 
criminal. But Martin, to this, had only promised 
not to bring Derrick to justice if Monica re- 
mained under his own roof. 

If, therefore, she went away, he was no 
longer bound to withhold his hand. 

And although Martin could not, in honor, 
entrap the rascal by means of his wife, he did 
not doubt that, once back in Ireland, Derrick 
could be traced by the police easily enough. 

But, on the other hand, if Monica went away 
with him, it would be a proof that she still 
loved him ; and Martin felt that her love would 
put an effectual shield before her criminal 
husband. 

But again, if Derrick should learn from her 
that Martin had bound himself by a promise, 
he might tell her to return to the roof of 
the man who now passed as her, husband. 

These conflicting thoughts, the pangs of 
parting with the woman he loved, his thirst 
for vengeance on the double-dyed rogue who 


228 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

had thrown him and Monica into this diffi- 
culty, all combined to make Martin too restless 
and uneasy to retire to rest. 

When he had got rid of Mrs. Jesmond-Cray, 
therefore, he went out on the terrace, not to 
play the spy on Monica, whom he supposed 
to have left the house before this, but to feel 
the cold air on his hot forehead. 

Instinctively he turned his steps in the 
direction of the room in which he had left 
Monica. 

And the last of the three windows of the 
room Was unlatched. 


r 


Face to Face. 


229 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

FACE TO FACE. 

When Mr. Hendon burst in upon Monica, 
thrusting her back into the room, and fasten- 
ing the window behind him, his next care 
was to run across the floor to the inner doors 
of the room, and to turn the keys in both. 
While he did so, he kept an eye upon Monica, 
smiling all the time, and then he ran down to 
her and seized both her hands. 

She shrank back with frightened eyes. 
But he only laughed very softly, and still 
looked at her, with his head held critically 
on one side. 

“ That’s better ! ” said he, with a sigh of 
relief, and speaking all the while in a sub- 
dued voice that would not have reached the 
ears of a listener outside the door. “ Thought 
that fellow never would take himself off. 
And it was cold out there, I can tell you. 
And dull too ; for I couldn’t hear anything ; 
and I couldn’t see much : now we can have 
a talk ; how are you, old girl-? Glad to see 
me again, eh ? ” 


230 The Plain Miss Cray. 

He suddenly bent forward with the inten- 
tion of kissing her. But she drew back so 
stiffly and with such a frightened exclamation 
that he only laughed, released her hands, and 
patted her on the shoulder. Monica recoiled 
from the touch. 

“ Of course I’m glad to see you, Derrick,” 
said she, in a stifled voice, husky with unshed 
tears, “ but why, why didn’t you come be- 
fore ? ” 

Derrick looked at her with an expression of 
comical dismay. 

‘‘ Oh, my dear, don’t put me through my 
catechism. Because, 5^ou know, if you do, 
you’ll have to answer some awkward questions, 
too.” 

He sat down by the fire, shivering a little, 
then went on his knees and poked the embers 
softly. 

“ What questions ? ” asked Monica, coming 
nearer, and speaking in a low, anxious voice. 
“What awkward questions will you have to ask 
me, Derrick ? ” 

Derrick turned round, poker in hand, and 
looked at. her curiously. 

“ I like that ! I, your lawful husband, come 
back from a miserable exile, and find you com- 
fortably settled down as the wife of another 
man, and you ask me, ‘ What questions ? ” 

Monica drew the wrap closely round her 


Face to Face. 


231 

shoulders, and walked towards one of the 
windows. 

“ Let us get outside, Derrick, and I’ll tell you 
everything. I couldn’t put a hat on, for fear 
of meeting anybody, but I’m ready to go.” 

He turned round and stared at her. 

“ To go where ? ” he asked blankly. 

“ Anyw'here. I’m ready to go anywhere, to 
suffer anything, but not to be left alone again.” 

Derrick laughed mockingly. 

“ Alone ! You don’t seem to have been 
much alone. But, my dear child, let that 
pass.” He waved his hand to check her as 
she tried to protest. “ I haven’t come here to 
reproach you ; Heaven knows I’m not per- 
fect myself. And I haven’t come to disturb 
you either, or to turn you out of the very 
comfortable nest you have taken care to 
build for yourself.” Again she tried to speak. 
“Oh, I don’t blame you. A lofty ideal of fidel- 
ity and devotion’s all very well ; but the mouth 
has to be filled and the back to be clothed all 
the same, eh ? ” 

Monica sank into a chair, as if stupefied. 

“You’re changed, different!” cried she, 
faintly. “You’re not the same Derrick” — she 
broke off, and looked at him with straining 
eyes. At last a faint smile, a sort of sickly 
hope came into her face. “ I know ! ” she 
cried, starting up ; “ you’re pretending to be 


232 The Plain Miss Cray. 

hard, you’re speaking in that coarse way on 
purpose to put me at my ease, to make me 
think you don’t care. It’s all put on,” she 
went on eagerly, coming a step nearer to look 
at him more closely. “For, if you hadn’t 
cared, you wouldn’t have come to see me. 
Wouldn’t have risked yourself in the house of 
the very man you want to avoid.” 

Derrick moved uneasily, and looked up at 
her out of the corners of his eyes. 

“To avoid ! Why should I avoid him ?” 

Monica came a little nearer, and looked round 
her fearfully. The words on her tongue seemed 
to gain added horror as she flashed them out. 

“ He believes you murdered — ” 

In strong contrast with the dread, the sick- 
ening mistrust and misery with which she 
hissed out the words, was the flippant, airy 
manner of Derrick as he answered her. 

“ St — st, child ! That little matter was the 
affair of Derrick O’Hara, and Derrick is dead ; 
dead — and buried— and forgotten.” 

Monica shook her head. 

“ Not forgotten by his mother or his wife. 
And not forgotten either by a man who is 
always about the place, a man they call Luke, 
the Scamp.” 

Derrick uttered an oath and started up, with 
a frown on his face and an involuntary glance 
at the windows. 


Face to Face. 


233 

“ Curse him ! Is that fellow about here ? I 
shall have to square him, I suppose ! ” 

“To square him ! ” cried Monica, shocked. 
“ Why should you square him if you’re an in- 
nocent man ? ” 

Derrick glanced at her with a slight frown, 
irritated by her simplicity, and not quite sure 
whether he believed in it. 

“ There are degrees of innocence, my dear,” 
he said after a pause, “ in man as in woman. 
And remember, the same wooden-headed 
magistrates who would call me a murderer 
would undoubtedly pronounce you a bigamist.” 

Monica looked surprised at these words. 
She was utterly puzzled, simple creature that 
she was, by the growing difference between 
the Derrick of her girlish memories, of her 
imagination, of her dreams, and the actual man 
before her. Having been under the influence 
of himself and his mother from the time that 
she was left an orphan at fifteen, she had 
always taken his mother’s view of him as a 
charming, high-spirited fellow, full of mis- 
chief and devilry, no doubt, but at heart chiv- 
alrous, noble, incapable of wrong-doing. It 
was dawning upon her that she had been de- 
ceived, that the view taken by Martin Laffan 
of this selfish scapegrace was the right one. 
Nevertheless, she would not yield up her ideals 
without a struggle. 


234 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

“ Don’t you know why I married Mr. Laffan, 
Derrick ? ” she said earnestly, coming nearer to 
look into his face, and to try to read its enigmas. 
“ If you had seen your mother she would have 
told you. It was she who advised me, per- 
suaded me, saying that then the police would 
believe you dead, and you would be able to 
come back and see her before she died. It 
was because of her — and you — and her longing 
to see you when she grew ill, that I did this 
dreadful, wicked thing ! ” 

And she bent her head and began to 
cry. 

Derrick, however, was unmoved by her grief. 
He spoke in a very stern voice, one which, 
after his flippant manner of a few minutes be- 
fore, was another shock. 

“ A pretty story that, madam, for an injured 
husband. For a man who has been living for 
nothing but the hope of clasping his wife in 
his arms, the same pure and stainless woman 
that he left three years ago ! ” 

Again at these words Monica, eager to be- 
lieve the best, yet filled at the same time with 
a reluctance to speak which she herself was 
unable to understand, looked earnestly into his 
face. He did not look at her, but kept his 
head turned towards the fire, into which he 
gazed with a steadiness which seemed to the 
simple-hearted woman to be the result of an 


Face to Face. 235 

intensity of feeling which made him unwilling 
or unable to meet her eyes. 

“ Did you hope that, Derrick ? ” she asked 
at last in a soft whisper. “ Did you really ? 
Have you wanted to come back to me, just as 
I thought, just as I said ? Oh, if I can only 
believe you, if you can only persuade me that 
that is true, I have something to tell you, 
something ” — she broke down into incoherent 
detached utterances — “ which — which — will 
make you — very— very happy ! ” 

Then she cried again, and clasped her 
hands, crouching on a chair, and not knowing 
why it was that she shuddered while she 
spoke. 

Derrick, however, was calm and collected. 
He rose and addressed her in a tone of flour- 
ishing rhodomontade. 

“ Nothing can make me happy now,” he said 
solemnly. “ Nothing, at least, but the knowl- 
edge that you are tenderly cherished, well 
cared for, I bear this man no malice for hav- 
ing supplanted me. Poor fellow, he did it in- 
nocently enough. We must remember that, 
Monica.” And he paused, as if to recover 
from a sudden overflow of feeling. “ I did 
remember it when, this evening, I permitted 
myself to clasp his hand. All that I ask now 
is that you should think of me kindly, for the 
sake of what I have felt.” He affected to sob 


236 The Plain Miss Cray. 

at this point, and paused again, taking care, 
through the hand he put over his face, to take 
note of the effect his words were having upon 
his companion. Then he went on in a plead- 
ing tone, “ And that, out of your abundance,” 
and, as if instinctively, he held out his right 
hand, “you should give me a little help, a very 
little, fifty pounds, forty, thirty, what you will, 
to take me out of your way, out of sight of the 
happiness I cannot share.” 

He acted this very well, not making his 
voice too soft, too entreating, but speaking as 
if he knew that he was magnanimous, but 
would not take advantage of the fact. 

Innocent as she was, however, and conscious 
as she was of the extent of her own wrong- 
doing towards Martin, Monica felt that this 
was not the attitude she had expected Derrick 
to take, nor could she reconcile it to her own 
ideals of honor, honesty, even of good taste. 
Yet even now she doubted rather her own 
perceptions than his good faith, and stared at 
his open hand with a confused struggle going 
on in her own mind. 

“ Could you take his money ? ” she asked at 
last, in a very low voice, hoping against hope 
that his reply might not be that she feared. 
“ Martin Laffan’s money ! ” 

Derrick turned upon her quite fiercely. 

“ Indeed I could not. Do you think I have 


Face to Face, 


237 

no spirit, no pride ? But for your own sake,” 
he went on in a softer tone, as he drew near 
her, in the attitude of one who is ready to be- 
stow a caress if it is invited, “ I may take yours, 
not as blackmail to keep your secret. Heaven 
forbid ! but to take me away out of a neigh- 
borhood where an indiscreet word, wrung from 
me by my bitter feelings, might betray you, ruin 
you ! ” 

And, as she made no attempt to encourage 
his friendly approach, he turned away again, 
as if his feelings were too much for him. 

Monica stared in front of her with a puzzled 
frown on her face. 

“ It seems strange that you should ask me 
for money ! ” she found voice and courage to 
say at last, drying her eyes, and evidently try- 
ing to reconcile two conflicting views, “That 
you should be too poor to go away, when — 
when you were not too poor to come ! ” 

For a moment Derrick was rather discon- 
certed. Then putting a bold face on the mat- 
ter, he shook his head dolefully, and said, — 

“ If your heart hadn’t been chilled towards 
me, you would understand the feeling that 
made me spend my last shilling in coming to 
assure myself of your welfare ! ” 

Monica sobbed, 

“ Indeed, I’m very grateful to you, Derrick,” 
she whimpered. “ And if you’re in want of 


238 The Plain Miss Cra5^ 

money, I wish I had some to give you. But I 
haven’t any ; I haven’t any at all.” 

Derrick looked incredulous. 

“ Surely this Laffan isn’t so mean as to keep 
his wife without money ! ” said he. 

The accusation brought back the colour to 
Monica’s face, and a flash of spirit into her limp 
frame. 

“ Mean ! ” she cried indignantly. “ He’s 
the most generous man in the whole world. 
He would be giving me presents all day long 
if I would take them ! ” 

“ You should take them,” said Derrick, im- 
patiently. “ It’s unnatural in a woman to refuse 
presents. It will make him suspect — ” 

“ Men like Martin Laffan don’t suspect,” 
interrupted Monica, shaking her head with 
confidence. “ He thinks all men are as 
good as himself, and that all women are 
better.” 

“ He seems to have been able to inspire you 
with a very good opinion of him ! ” sneered 
Derrick. 

Monica looked up, straightening herself under 
the influence of her enthusiasm. 

“ It’s not better than yours will be when you 
know ! ” she cried. “ Derrick, I’m not quite 
the wicked impostor you think me. I did de- 
ceive Martin Laffan into marrying me ; but I 
couldn’t keep up the deception long. Within 


Face to Face. 


239 

a couple of hours of leaving the church I con- 
fessed who I was.” 

Derrick startled violently. 

“You confounded fool ! ” snarled he, between 
his set teeth, while he clenched his fists and 
glared at her as if he would have struck her if 
he dared. 

But Monica was not frightened. She had 
made one confession, she was eager to make 
this other. 

“ Think what you like of me ! ” cried she, 
not loudly, but with deep earnestness. “ But 
Martin — Mr. Laffan — he listened to me ” (her 
eyes melted into a warm glow of loving mem- 
ory). “ He took pity on me. He was given 
me the shelter of his house, of his name ; and 
all the while he has treated me as a sister, and 
not as a wife.” Her voice sank still lower, 
and she drew her breath in gasps. ‘‘ Now, 
now,” she went on quickly, not daring to look 
up, “ now what do you think of him?” 

“ Why, that he is as great a fool as you are 
yourself ! ” retorted Derrick, with a harshness 
which made her shiver, as he walked angrily 
up and down the room, with one hand in his 
pocket, and the other sawing the air, while she 
watched him, listened to him in dumb horror 
and disgust. “ And my advice to you is to 
keep up the merry little game as long as he’s 
fool enough to stand it ; for you are certainly 


240 The Plain Miss Cray. 

as well-matched a pair of idiots as ever I’ve 
met ! ” 

Monica did not cry now. She rose up slowly, 
and looked at him in dry-eyed amazement and 
dismay. Every feature of the man seemed to 
have altered while she gazed, every movement 
of his now filled her with concentrated de- 
testation. 

“ Oh, my God,” she whispered at last, “ now 
I understand ! This is the real Derrick ! ” 

He took her up briskly upon the last words. 

• “ It is — it’s the genuine article,” said he, 
sharply. “ And you can judge for yourself 
whether you’d care to take him in exchange 
for your precious Martin, or whether you hadn’t 
better stay where you are, and contrive to 
bestow an occasional five-pound note upon 
your good-for-nothing but unobtrusive Der- 
rick ! ” 

“ Martin was right then!” whispered Monica, 
not looking at him, not even knowing that she 
had uttered the thought in her mind. 

“ Of course, Martin always is,” retorted Der- 
rick, lightly. “ But you’ll find that, on this 
occasion, Derrick’s right too. Come, on second 
thoughts, don’t you think so ? ” 

She had found her voice ; the struggle within 
her was over. She turned upon him. 

“ Do you think I could stay 7 ^ow — and let 
him be blackmailed ? ” 


Face to Face. 


241 

“ My dear girl, what else is there for you to 
do?” 

Derrick was quite bland now, quite easy. 
Surely, if the woman was not quite a fool, she 
must see reason in the end. 

“Why, you must take me away with you,” 
said Monica, decidedly. 

“ But I don’t want you. And this Mar- 
tin Laffan does. And you do like him, 
and you don’t like me,” persisted Derrick, 
frankly. 

Monica pleaded in her turn, — 

“But I’ll be a good wife to you. Derrick, if 
you’ll take me away. I’ll work for what I want, 
and for you ; and I’ll live on so little ! And I’ll 
be obedient and helpful to you in every way 
I can.” 

“ Her voice was soft, and her eyes were elo- 
quent. Even the rascal she was dealing with 
was rather touched, 

“ By Jove, I believe you would ! ” said he. 
“ I almost wish — ” But here he pulled himself 
up with a laugh. “ But no. It’s no good. I’ve 
made other arrangements, I can’t take you 
away. If you persist in going, you must go by 
yourself.” 

She shook her head in alarm. 

“ Oh, no, no. Derrick, not by myself, not by 
myself ! How could I hold out, then, when I 
remembered that he was here, all alone, wishing 
16 


242 The Plain Miss Cray. 

for me to come back ? And that nobody else 
wanted me at all.” 

On Derrick’s face there began to appear an 
ugly frown. 

“ I see. It’s all on this precious Martin’s 
account that I’m to saddle myself with you ? 
And all the while you are too virtuous to give 
me so much as a kiss ! ” 

As he approached her, a look of dread and 
repulsion crossed Monica’s face. She tried 
not to shrink, but wheeled suddenly away as 
his hand touched her shoulder. 

“ I’ll kiss you, of course I’ll kiss you. Der- 
rick,” she whispered hurriedly. “ But let us 
get away first out of the house, away from 
here ! ” 

She edged away and reached the nearest 
window, the latch of which she unfastened. 
Derrick sprang after her, angry, savage. 

“ Away, away ! ” echoed he, dragging her 
from the window roughly. “Yes, I shall get 
away fast enough. But not with you. Do you 
think I’m going to take you away for the sake 
of that Laffan, who has hunted me like a fox, 
who wishes me dead ? ”■ As he spoke, they 
were both startled to hear some one outside 
the half-opened window. “ There, he is ! ” 
said Derrick, hurriedly. “ There’s your saint ! 

Go to him, go to him, and be d d to you 

both ! ” 


Face to Face. 


243 


Monica had seized his hand, mutely entreat- 
ing him. As he threw her off, sent her 
staggering backwards, and made for the second 
window, Martin Laffan stepped quickly into 
the room, and cut off his retreat. 

“ Monica ! Hendon ! Ah ! ” cried he. 

With awakened intelligence in his voice 
and manner, he advanced upon Derrick, as 
the other retreated before him into the room. 

Monica ran between the two men. 

“ No, no, your promise, your promise ! ” cried 
she, turning with agony in her eyes to Martin. 

“ Derrick O’Hara ! ” ejaculated he. 

Derrick turned sharply upon Monica. 

" Why couldn’t you hold your tongue ? ” 
growled he, savagely. 

“ Don’t blame her for my discovery,’ said 
Martin, very quietly. “ It’s obvious that noth- 
ing but the fact of your being her husband 
would have induced this lady to grant an inter- 
view to such a repulsive rascal ! ” 

Monica uttered a cry, and clasped her hands 
imploringly, but she did not say another word. 

Derrick assumed an attitude of dignity. 

" Sir, sir, those are brave words to use to a 
man whose wife you have stolen ! ” said he. 

But Martin, without answering him except 
by an impatient movement of disgust, ad- 
dressed himself to Monica, who was still trying 
to drag Derrick away to the window. 


244 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

“Are you going with him, Monica?” asked 
he. 

“Yes, yes, I must,” replied she, piteously. 

“ Then God help you with a husband who 
was ready to sell his wife for purposes of black- 
mail ! ” 

And he passed them both, and flung himself 
down upon a couch opposite the fire. 

Monica tried with more earnestness than 
before to lead her wretched husband away. 
But Derrick marched up till he was within a 
feet of Martin, and looked down at him with 
a lofty air of scorn. 

“ I’d have you know, sir,” said he, “that I’m 
one of the O’Haras of O’Hara, and that that’s 
not the manner in which I choose to be spoken 
to ! ” 

“ And pray,” retorted Martin, hardly troub- 
ling himself to glance at the scoundrel, “ in 
what manner do you suppose a bench of magis- 
trates will speak to you, when you’re brought 
before them to answer for the murder of Cap- 
tain Malcolm?” 

Derrick, with a quick downward glance, 
put his hand unobtrusively to his inner pocket. 
Then he turned to Monica. 

“ Go away, child. I’m coming,” said he. 

She had stolen, weeping, wistful, to Martin’s 
side. He touched her arm gently. 

“Yes, go,” said he, in alow voice. “ There’s 


Face to Face. 


245 


no help for it.” As she still remained there, 
sobbing, he stood up, and took her hand. 
“ God bless you, Monica ! ” said he. 

For a moment they stood with their hands 
clasped, and exchanged one look in which 
soul met soul. Then Martin it was who gently 
withdrew his hand, indicating with a glance 
that she was to go. 

“ You forgive me,” murmured she. “ I 
know you do ! ” 

He gave her no answer in words, but with 
a smile which pierced her to the heart, so ten- 
der, so mournful was it, he waved his hand, 
sending her away. She went sobbing to the 
window. Derrick imperiously intimated by 
a gesture that she was to leave them. 

With her head bent, stumbling, and with 
tears, Monica went out upon the terrace and 
left the two men together. 

“ Is it of any use,” asked Martin, in a cutting 
tone, “to tell you to be good to her? ” 

“That’s my affair,” said Derrick, shortly, 
snapping out his words like a snarling cur. 
“ And as I don’t mean to be hanged in 
order that you may marry my widow, why, 
this is my affair too ! ” 

He drew his revolver quickly from his 
pocket, and shot Martin full in the breast. 

Martin uttered a sharp cry, as Derrick 
backed to the window. 


246 The Plain Miss Cray, 

“ What was that ? ” cried Monica, back in 
the room, with white cheeks. 

She saw the look on Martin’s face, saw him 
put up his hand, and she flew across the room 
towards him. 

Derrick tried to catch her as she passed. 

“ Come, Monica,” said he, as he leaped 
towards the window. 

Martin had sunk down again upon the sofa. 

“ He’s shot me,” said he. 

Monica uttered a long, wailing cry, and 
flung her arms round him, 

“ Now I may stay ! ” whispered she, as she 
kneeled at his feet and tore open his coat. 


A Mysterious Wound. 


247 


CHAPTER XIX. 

A MYSTERIOUS WOUND. 

Martin lay back very still, and Monicashud- 
dered as she looked at him. She knew very 
little about wounds, but his evident faintness, 
and the sight of the blood which had stained 
his shirt-front, filled her with a deadly fear. 

He smiled at her, however, and told her he 
was all right. 

“ The only thing to do,” he said in a weak 
voice, “is to settle ” — he paused a moment — 
“ to settle what sort of story we are to tell. 
We don’t w'ant — ” 

He stopped. Monica, who had been doing 
her best to check the flow of blood from the 
wound, gathered all the strength of her lungs 
and called out, — 

“ Help ! ” 

For she dared not leave him. 

In that moment of distress and anxiety on 
his account, she cared little for exposure, for 
the curiosity of the crowd. The one thing was 
to get proper attention for Martin, and to get 
it speedily. As for Derrick, he must take his 


248 The Plain Miss Cray, 

chance ; she did not even remember him ex- 
cept as the instrument of a malevolent power 
working for Martin’s hurt. 

Martin said nothing when she called out. 
She repeated her cry again and again, until at 
last she heard footsteps outside the door and 
some one tried to turn the handle, 

“ Thank heaven ! ” she whispered hoarsely. 

But the door was locked, and Oswin Smith’s 
voice called out, — 

“ I can’t get in. Can’t you open the door ? ” 

Unable to take her hands away, Monica 
called out in a trembling voice to him to come 
round by the window. 

In a few moments he was in the room. 

“ Hallo ! What’s happened ?” asked he, in 
deep concern, when he saw his friend, by this 
time scarcely conscious, and the kneeling, 
frightened woman. 

She answered without hesitation or reserve. 
The truth must be known and the proper 
remedies applied without delay. 

“ He’s been shot.” 

“ Shot ! Who by ? ” asked Oswin, sharply. 

She hesitated. And he went on, — 

“ We must send for a doctor and the police. 

Then Monica turned, and he saw in her eyes 
that there was a story here that must not be told. 

“Yes — a doctor, and as quickly as you can. 
But not — not the police.” 


A Mysterious Wound. 249 

She saw, however, in his face, as he rang the 
bell as loudly as he could, that he would pay 
no heed to her instructions in this latter re- 
spect. 

“ Not the police,” she repeated more firmly, 
“ until you’ve spoken to Martin. Do you hear, 
Mr. Smith ? It would be his wish, as it is 
mine.” 

He was unlocking the door. 

“ What am I to say, then ? ” he asked briefly. 

“ Say — the truth ; that you know nothing, 
but that he’s been shot. ’ 

At that moment the door opened, and Prick- 
ett, in much alarm at this late summons, ap- 
peared, followed at a little distance by Mrs. 
Cray. 

They had been roused, before the ringing of 
the bell, by Monica’s cries, and had therefore 
been ready to come as soon as the ringing 
began. 

The butler was despatched at once with 
orders to send a groom for the nearest doctor ; 
but Mrs. Cray, whose curiosity was roused, was 
not so easily got rid of. 

“ Shot, you say ? ” said she to Oswin, while 
Monica still kept her place by Martin’s side, 
indifferent to everything that passed around 
her. “ But who shot him ? And,” she looked 
round with scrutinizing eyes, “ where’s the 
thing that did it ? ” 


250 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

“ Oh, I’m sure I don’t know,” said Oswin, 
hastily, most anxious to induce her to go back 
to her room. “ The question is how to help 
him as quickly as we can. Doesn’t your 
daughter know something about first aid ? I 
think I’ve heard her say she had attended 
classes for that sort of thing.” 

But Mrs. Cray, who would not have hesitated 
to summon her daughter for a patient whom 
she considered “interesting,” could see no 
good purpose to be served by bringing out one 
of her lambs in the cause of a man who was 
married and not concerned in the market for 
wives. 

“ Oh, I believe Ethel did go in for that sort 
of thing once,” she said grudgingly. “ But 
I’ve always heard that amateurs at first aid are 
likely to do more harm than good, especially 
when they’re girls.” 

“ It might be so in the case of some girls,” 
replied Oswin, rather sharply. “ But not in 
your daughter’s. She wouldn’t take up any- 
thing unless she did it thoroughly.” 

Now, if Mrs. Jesmond-Cray had had a grain 
of sense, this speech might have opened her 
foolish eyes as to the way things were tending. 
As it was, she saw in his words only a fresh 
sneer at the fact that Ethel was not pretty 
enough to be anything but useful. So she 
drew herself up. 


A Mysterious Wound. 251 

“ I certainly shouldn’t allow either of my 
daughters to be mixed up in anything that 
looked like a sort of mystery, much less a 
scandal,” she said with dignity. “ And a pis- 
tol-shot where’s there’s no pistol is a mystery. 
It’s the most mysterious thing I ever heard of. 
Besides, she might make his wife jealous. I 
shouldn’t allow her to do anything which ex- 
posed her to that.” 

Mrs. Jesmond-Cray, too curious to go away, 
remained as if rooted to the floor, looking de- 
fiantly at Oswin. But even while she uttered 
these words, with her attention for the time 
diverted from the wounded man to his friend, 
she saw a look of relief cross Oswin’s face. 

The next moment the following words, ut- 
tered in Ethel’s quiet, incisive manner, made 
her start and turn round, — 

“ Mr. Smith, send the housekeeper to me, 
if you please. Tell her to bring me a sponge, 
some cold water, and something I can use as 
a pad, and some bandages.” 

Mrs. Cray uttered a little scream. Turning, 
she saw that Monica had yielded her place 
by Martin’s side, and was now supporting his 
head, while Ethel was kneeling beside him. 

“ Ethel ! I — I can’t allow this. You should 
have — ” 

“ Yes, mama, so I will,” the girl cut in 
promptly. “ But not now. Mr. Smith, do 


252 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

please—” She looked round, “ Oh, that’s 
right, he’s gone.” 

“ And utterly disgusted by your ordering 
him about like that, no doubt,” quavered Mrs. 
Cray, thoroughly thrown off her balance by 
this open defiance, “You never will think of 
your sister, or of anybody but yourself.” 

“ Well, we’ve all got to think of Mr. Laffan 
now,” replied Ethel, in the same even tone as 
before. “ Don’t you think, mama, you’d 
better go up-stairs and reassure Gladys and 
Mrs. Laffan, in case they’ve heard anything?” 

But this advice came too late in the case of 
one of the ladies. For at that moment old 
Mrs. Laffan came down by the little staircase 
at the end of the drawing-room, and after try- 
ing the door, asked to be let in. 

Ethel moaned. 

“ Oh, these people l^hese people ! ” 

A voice behind her spoke reassuringly, — 

“ They’ll soon be gone, those of them that 
aren’t any use. And you needn’t mind the 
old lady ; she’ll be discreet. I’ll answer for it.” 

It was Oswin Smith who uttered these 
words rapidly in her ear, and then passed on to 
unlock the door for old Mrs. Laffan. 

It was just as he had predicted. To Mrs. Cray’s 
exclamations and explanations and surmises 
that there was a mystery about the accident, 
the wiser lady replied with that imperturbable 


A Mysterious Wound. 253 

way of putting facts behind her as beneath her 
notice in which every British matron is a past 
mistress. Mrs. Laffan considered mysteries 
undesirable, therefore there was no mystery. 

"Of course it is an accident," she said, her 
face very white as she looked at her son, but 
her lips in a resolute shape. And she glanced 
round her at the many fantastic firearms, which 
were among the trophies on the walls. “ Of 
course he was playing with one of those old 
guns, or cleaning it perhaps, and it vras loaded, 
and he didn’t know it. These things are 
always happening.” 

And she waved her hand as if to dismiss 
Mrs. Cray and the subject together. The other 
lady, however, insisted. 

“ Where is the gun that he did it with, 
then? None of these look as if they’d been 
touched.” 

“ What does it matter where it is ? ” retorted 
Mrs. Laffan, losing patience. “ It would be 
more to the purpose if we were to see if we 
could give any help.” 

Rebuffed on all sides, Mrs. Jesmond-Cray 
thought it best to beat a retreat to discuss the 
affair with Gladys, the one person who would 
not dare to contradict her. 

But when she had gone,the others looked with 
more concern into each other’s faces. What 
they would not admit to the indiscreet Mrs. 


254 The Plain Miss Cray. 

Cray they were forced to allow with each 
other ; there was a mystery, and an ugly one, 
about the wound which Martin had received. 

There was no discussion of the affair, how- 
ever ; whatever their inclination might have 
been, the presence of Monica and the house- 
keeper prevented that. Old Mrs. Laffan, 
Ethel, and Oswin, who were all busy with 
surmises in their own minds, went about the 
work of doing all they could for the patient 
without so much as a question. 

Old Mrs. Laffan, indeed, boldly told the 
doctor, when he arrived and asked what had 
caused the wound, that it was done by a bullet 
from a revolver with which Martin had been 
playing. 

Ethel and Oswin involuntarily looked at 
Monica and then exchanged a glance of intelli- 
gence. It was curious how these two, by 
virtue, not of sympathy, but of keen intelli- 
gence, knew always how any remark that was 
made in their presence would strike the other. 

“ Playing with it ! ” remarked the doctor, 
raising his eyebrows, “ odd, if it was fired so 
close, that it hasn’t burnt the shirt ! ” 

Nobody made any comment on this, and 
nobody, when the doctor asked to see the 
weapon, made any attempt to fetch it. He was 
an elderly man, and perhaps he perceived, 
from the faces round him, that he should get 


255 


A Mysterious Wound. 

no help in that direction. At any rate, he did 
not repeat the request, but turned his whole 
attention to the wound itself. 

After a brief examination, he pronounced a 
verdict which was, on the whole, as good a one 
as they could hope for. He would not probe 
for the bullet then, but he thought it could not 
have reached a vital part ; and the hemorrhage, 
though it seemed alarming to the ladies, was 
less so than if it had been internal. 

He remarked on the good fortune by which 
Martin had been tended from the outset by 
loving and skilful hands, and Monica and Ethel 
exchanged a look, the one of gratitude, the 
other of pity. 

“ Can we take him upstairs ? ” asked Monica, 
anxiously, “into his own room ?” 

“ I don’t think I should risk moving him so 
far,” said the doctor. “ Make him up a bed in 
here.” 

Involuntarily Monica grew whiter, and 
glanced at the windows. Oswin saw the look, 
and pondered. 

“ I agree with Mrs. Martin,” said he, “ that 
he would run less risk of disturbance upstairs. 
The birds have a habit of nesting in the 
creepers by these lower windows, and they do 
really make an awful row there,” 

Monica gave him a grateful look in spite of 
herself. He pretended not to notice it. 


256 The Plain Miss Cray, 

So they prevailed vtpon the doctor, and then, 
with the greatest care, they all joined, with the 
help of one of the men-servants, in transporting 
Martin upstairs to his own room. When he 
had been safely placed in bed, Monica accom- 
panied the doctor to the outer door to take his 
last instructions, and to endeavor to get more 
encouragement and comfort from his assur- 
ances that there was no immediate cause for 
alarm. 

When he had gone, she, however, did not 
at once return to Martin’s sick-room, where she 
had announced her intention of watching by 
his bedside. She went first to the back of the 
house, choosing the dining-room, as being more 
removed than the other apartments from the 
quarters where the servants were still con- 
gregated to discuss the recent event. 

Opening the window softly, she looked out. 

As she had expected. Derrick was hovering 
about in the shadow of the trees. The mo- 
ment he saw her, he boldly crossed the path of 
moonlight that made the terrace in one place 
almost as light as by day. 

“ I was waiting for you,” he said quietly, and 
as coolly as if he had but just turned out for a 
last cigar. “You have something to settle 
with me.” 

“ Yes,” said she, looking at him steadily. “ I 
have to tell you that, unless you go away from 


257 


A Mysterious Wound. 

this place altogether, I’ll let the whole story 
be known. I’ll let the police take you if they 
will.” 

“ If they can, you mean,” retorted Derrick, 
quickly. “ Well, do as you please. And just 
hear what I have to say now. If you do put 
the police on my track. I’ll finish off your chiv- 
alrous husband. I understand he’s not dead 
yet ? ” 

“ How do you know ? ” asked Monica, 
sharply. 

“ I asked one of the servants as she came to 
the door just now to let the doctor in,” replied 
Derrick, imperturbably. 

As a matter of fact this was not true ; he 
only guessed that Martin was not dead by 
Monica’s comparative calm. But these words, 
implying, as they did, an unparalleled effrontery, 
made Monica’s blood run cold, and frightened 
her effectually. 

“You see,” said he, with a laugh, “ that I’m 
not a man to be easily frightened, when I’ve 
made up my mind on any point. So now you’d 
better listen to me. You want to get rid of me, 
don’t you ? ” 

“ I — I— I only want — ” 

“ You want to stay here quietly and un- 
molested ?” 

“ Until he’s well. I’ll come away the moment 
he’s well,” she pleaded, breaking down. 


258 The Plain Miss Cray. 

“ Very well. That’s all right. Quite natural 
and admirable, and all that sort of thing. But 
in the meantime you’ve got to help me to get 
away. I want a hundred pounds.” 

“Last night you said fifty,” interrupted 
Monica. 

“ Price has gone up since then. Now, as I 
say, it’s a hundred.” 

“ I can’t give it you ; I haven’t got it.” 

“ All right. Then I stay.” 

Monica drew a long breath, and looked 
helplessly about her. 

“ What do you mean to do ? ” 

“ Oh, nothing in particular. I shall only keep 
my eyes on the place, and — ” 

“ And Luke. What of Luke ? ” 

“ Oh, I’ll keep my eyes on him too.” 

These words contained, so it seemed to 
Monica, another threat. She grew icy cold with 
fear as she listened to him. 

“ You’ll only bring suspicion down upon 
yourself if you do stay,” she said at last, “ You 
will be seen hanging about, and after what has 
happened, any one who does anything like that 
will be suspected at once. Whatever we say, 
the thing will get known, and you know best 
whether you would care to be watched.” 

‘‘ I should not care for it. Nevertheless, it 
must be risked, I haven’t the money to take 
me away, and you won’t give it me.” 


A Mysterious Wound. 259 

“ Can’t, not won’t,” pleaded Monica. 

He went on without heeding. 

“ So I’ve made up my mind. I shall hang 
about here, exposed to danger myself, and a 
source of danger to others.” And he gave 
her a look out of the corners of his light eyes 
which froze her blood, “ until I get the where- 
withal to go away. You will have to feed me, 
unless you want me to starve. When you hear 
the tinkling of a handful of stones against 
your window — I’ve made myself acquainted 
with the fact that the third window is yours — 
you must come out to me. Mind, I say you 
must. Now, I won’t detain you longer. But 
— think over what I’ve said.” 

With a nod, he was gone, disappearing 
into the thick growth of trees and bushes 
to the east of the terreace with lightning 
rapidity. 

Monica shut herself into the house with a 
shiver. Although she had been long in learn- 
ing the truth about Derrick’s character, she 
had now learnt the lesson well. She knew 
that he was daring, unscrupulous, cruel, and 
absolutely selfish, knew that he would as soon 
shoot a man dead whom he considered to be 
an obstacle in his path as he would brush away 
a wasp. 

She pressed her hands to her head and tried 
to think, tried to find a way out of the awful 


26 o The Plain Miss Cray. 

difficulties in which she was placed, the dan- 
gers which hedged Martin round. 

If she had had the money to pay Derrick for 
going away, she would not have hesitated an 
instant. She now understood the man, knew 
that as long as he had money to spend on his 
own pleasures he would not trouble his head 
about such trivial matters as revenge and re- 
taliation. But she had no money ; Martin 
gave her indeed certain small sums for house- 
keeping, all that she would accept from him. 
But the greater expenses, the accounts from 
the ‘ Stores,’ and all heavy bills, he paid him- 
self by her own wish. 

She had perhaps had hanging over her the 
notion that she might some day be placed in 
some such difficulty as that she was now in ; 
at any rate, she had been shy from the first 
about receiving any sums from Martin beyond 
what were absolutely necessary. Now she 
hardly knew whether to be glad or sorry for 
this ; glad that she was in no temptation to 
pay over to Derrick money which belonged to 
Martin, or sorry that she had left herself with- 
out the means to purchase, in however degrad- 
ing a manner, Martin’s safety. 

For that he was in danger while Derrick 
remained in the neighborhood she could not 
doubt. 

She went slowly upstairs to Martin’s room, 


A Mysterious Wound. 261 

passing on the way only one person, Oswin 
Smith, who looked at her, she thought, in a 
furtive manner, as if he had some suspicion of 
the errand on which she had just been en- 
gaged. 

She watched by Martin’s side all night, her 
heart heavy with anxiety, yet with a strange joy 
underlying her distress in the thought that now 
she was free to stay wdth him, to tend him, to 
look unchecked upon his face, to give, herself, 
the cooling drink he asked for, to put her hand 
under the dear head she loved so well. 

For she deceived herself no longer. She 
had fought, struggled with herself, believing 
herself to be still loyal to the memory of Der- 
rick, her husband ; she had tried to think that 
it was gratitude only which she felt for Mar- 
tin, respect for his goodness to her, admiration 
for his honest manliness. She knew better 
now. There was one word, and one word 
only, to describe her feeling for him : that 
word was love. 

So she sat by his bedside through the night, 
comforted by an occasional look from his 
kind eyes, in his intervals of wakefulness. 
He would have talked to her, but she forbade 
it ; forbade the utterance of a single word 
with so much tenderness, whth such a sweet 
smile in her brown eyes, that he submitted 
without a murmur to her commands, and gave 


262 The Plain Miss Cray. 

her with his grave looks of love the assurances 
which his tongue might not utter. 

So the night wore on, and in the gray hours 
of morning old Mrs. Laffan came to take her 
place by the bedside. 

Reluctantly, with a pang at even the tempo- 
rary parting, Monica left the room where she 
had experienced, during the past hours, such 
a strange mingling of distress and happiness. 
With one soft kiss upon Martin’s forehead, 
light as the touch of a butterfly’s wing, holding 
her breath lest she should wake him, she 
smiled into Mrs. Laffan’s eyes guiltily, received 
her tender kiss on her cheek, and went out 
into the corridor. 

She hesitated with an uneasy fear of some 
unknown danger on the threshold of her own 
room, then summoned her courage, and went 
softly in. The morning light was beginning 
to stream coldly through the blind. The 
shadows on the furniture struck her newly 
with a sense of uncanniness. She shut the 
door very gently, afraid of making the least 
noise. And as soon as she had done this a 
chill seized her heart ; for she heard the sound 
of a handful of small pebbles thrown against 
her window. 

Derrick meant to keep his word. 


Blackmail. 


263 


CHAPTER XX. 

BLACKMAIL. 

Monica crept down-stairs, shivering so 
much, not with cold, but with fear, that she 
could scarcely keep her footing, and had to 
support herself by the bannisters. 

No one was about, as far as she could dis- 
cover, and she had her choice of doors and 
windows through which to hold parley with 
Derrick. She decided to go to the drawing- 
room, where she could provide herself with a 
weapon of defense in case he should resort to 
violence with her, a danger which seemed not 
remote, when she remembered his savagery 
of the night before. 

She even went up towards a trophy of weap- 
ons on the wall, and looked at hatchets and fire- 
arms, spears and yataghans with timid eyes. 
But she did not touch them. Recognizing, 
with a sudden opening of her mind’s eyes, 
what a futile resistance she could make in the 
face of Derrick’s resource and daring, she 
turned away with a shuddering sigh, and pro- 
ceeded to grope her way to the nearest 
window. 


264 The Plain Miss Cray. 

Although the September morning light was 
fairly strong outside, for it was near six 
o’clock, it was dark in the Abbey Mallow 
drawing-room. For the curtains were drawn 
over the windows, and outside the trailing 
creepers hung in the untrained, bushy fashion 
Martin loved. 

She opened one of the windows and peeped 
out. Derrick, who was on the watch, met her 
face to face almost immediately, and before 
she could step outside. 

“Well, what have you brought me ? ” he 
asked in a harsh whisper. 

“ Brought you ! I’ve brought nothing. I 
didn’t know — ” 

“You knew that I should want food and 
money. The first you must get ; the second I 
should advise you to get if you can,” said Der- 
rick, who looked gray with cold, but who was 
as determined and as cool of manner as ever. 

“ I can get you food, of course. But, oh, 
Derrick — ” 

“That’ll do. You might let me come inside.” 

But for answer Monica promptly fastened 
the French window, and made a sign to him 
that she would fetch what he wanted if he 
would wait outside. Derrick frowned with 
anger but shrugged his shoulders, put his 
hands in his pockets, and turned away with 
an intimation to her to be quick. 


Blackmail. 


265 

As she went away from the window, a sound 
from the interior of the room caught her ear, 
and made her utter an exclamation of alarm. 
The next moment a man came towards her in 
the obscurity. 

“ Who are you ? ” gasped she. 

“ Don’t be frightened. It’s only me.” 

“ Mr. Smith ! You saw — you heard — ” 

“ Nothing. I hope I didn’t alarm you. It 
was Miss Cray’s idea. Miss Ethel’s, that we 
should both be on the watch all night, she in 
her room upstairs, and I down here, in case 
you might want any assistance.” 

Monica was touched, but frightened also. 

“ Why,” cried she, nervously, “ what assist- 
ance should I need ? The idea seems very 
strange ? ” 

“ Yes, yes, of course. Just a— a lady’s whim, 
you know,” said Oswin, quickly. “ At the 
same time — ” He hesitated, and looked at 
her askance. 

Her eyes, now becoming accustomed to the 
gloom, saw something in his face that reassured 
her, but at the same time broke down her 
composure. She suddenly turned away from 
him, and burst into tears. 

“ I’d — I’d do anything, anything in the world 
to bring any sort of help or comfort to Martin, 
Mrs. Laffan,” began Oswin, with great energy. 
“ If there’s any way, any way in which 1 


266 The Plain Miss Cray. < 

could be of use — you would tell me, wouldn’t 
you ? ” 

He was so heartily sincere, so earnest, that 
Monica’s heart leapt up with a bold thought. 

“I know I can trust you, I’m sure I can,” she 
said, peering up at him, as if to pierce to his 
inmost thoughts. “ But I — I don’t think there’s 
any way — ” 

“ Would you — excuse my asking such a 
strange question — would you tell me if you 
wanted money ? ” asked he, abruptly. 

Monica drew a long breath. 

“ No — yes — I don’t know,” muttered she, in- 
coherently, as the thought of purchasing a few 
weeks’ peace suddenly appeared before her 
eyes in tempting colors. “ I shouldn’t like to 
borrow of you,” she added hastily. 

“It’s no question of liking,” said Oswin, 
quickly. “You have only one question to ask 
yourself, and that is : would it do Martin any 
good ? Because, if you can say yes to that, 
you’re bound to come to me and say so. Now, 
think it out.” 

Monica's mind was soon made up. The very 
suggestion, made by this shrewd fellow who 
knew or guessed something, had its weight 
with her. 

She turned to him suddenly. 

“Will you lend me a hundred pounds?” 
said she. 


Blackmail, 267 

“ Certainly, You want it now ? I’ll bring 
it down to you here,” 

Before she could utter a word of thanks, he 
had left the room, Monica went out more 
slowly, and finding her way through the dark 
passages to the servants’ quarters, found bread, 
ham and wine, with which she was returning 
to the drawing-room, when Oswin met her at 
the foot of the wide oak staircase, 

“ I’ve signed an open cheque,” said he, “ for 
a hundred pounds, and left it to you to fill in 
the name. It’s on a London bank, and I don’t 
suppose it will be easy to cash it out of London, 
Will that matter ? ” 

Monica’s eyes, lighting up with joy, told him 
that it would not. Then her face fell a little. 
Would Derrick have money enough to take 
him to London ? Without trusting to his 
stories of destitution, this might really be the 
case, Oswin was shrewd enough to suspect 
the difficulty, 

“ And if you should want ready money,” he 
began, and produced a purse, from which he 
took some notes and gold, 

“Yes, please,” whispered Monica, “ It’s very, 
very good of you. May I have ten pounds ? ” 

“You don’t know,” said Oswin, smiling as 
he handed her the money, “ what a delightful 
feeling it gives me, after the years I’ve been 
hard up, to have anything in my purse to lend,” 


268 The Plain Miss Cray. 

She thanked him with her eyes for his jest- 
ing tone, and, having put down the things she 
was carrying on the stairs, she held out both 
her hands to him. 

“ I can’t thank you,” she whispered grate- 
fully. “ But if you knew what you are doing 
for me and Martin — ” 

Her voice broke, and she turned away sob- 
bing. Picking up the little tray, on which she 
had placed the food she was carrying, she ran 
into the dark corridor and escaped. 

Oswin went slowly up the staircase, listening 
for any sound from the direction of the draw- 
ing-room, but none came to his ears. He was 
hanging over the carved balustrade on his way 
up when he heard a mock sigh from the land- 
ing above him, and glancing up, saw Ethel 
Cray looking down at him with a rather critical 
expression. 

“ Hallo ! Good-morning, Miss Cray ! You’re 
about early, aren’t you ? ” he said with a touch 
of the old aggressiveness with which they had 
always been wont to treat each other previous 
to the past evening. 

“ Very ; and it’s rather lucky for you and 
Mrs. Martin. I have already met and turned 
off into another route a couple of servants who 
were on the point of surprising your rendez- 
vous.” 

“ Miss Cray ! ” cried Oswin, indignantly. 


Blackmail. 269 

“ Oh, it’s of no use to look indignant ; you 
ought to be grateful.” 

“ Grateful ! What on earth for ? ” asked he, 
with irritation. 

“ Well, ask yourself whether it would have 
been pleasant or advisable for you to be caught 
in tender converse with your host’s pretty 
young wife on the stairs at six o’clock in the 
morning, receiving her thanks for what must 
have been, to judge by her effusiveness, a very 
handsome gift.” 

“ Miss Cray, how dare you — ” began Oswin 
again. 

“ Oh, I dare anything, you know. Especially 
I dare to remind you that I couldn’t see exactly 
what the gift was.” 

“ I can’t understand you this morning. That 
you should dare to insinuate — ” 

“ I don’t insinuate. I kept off other people 
who would have done more than insinuate,” 
said Ethel, in a dry tone. 

“ Do you — do you m — m — mean to tell me,” 
said Oswin, stammering in his irritation, “ that 
you suspect, you presume to suspect — ” 

“ No. I don’t mean that.” And she turned 
upon him with a straightforward and provok- 
ing frankness. “For it was all too obviously 
improper for there to be anything wrong 
in it ! ” 

Oswin looked at her in a sort of desperate 


270 The Plain Miss Cray. 

amazement for a moment. Then he bowed, 
and with difficulty, kept himself from smiling. 

“ None but yourself can be your parallel,” 
said he at last. 

“ That’s not a compliment, I suppose ?” 

“ A compliment — between you and me ! 
What a preposterous notion ! ” 

“ Oh, I thought perhaps the truce had not 
yet been broken ?” suggested she. “But it's 
just as you please. I’m quite ready to buckle 
on my sword again.” 

Oswin made a gesture of terror. 

“ For Heaven’s sake don’t,” said he. “ I’m 
not in spirits to do any more fighting at pres- 
ent.” 

“ Neither am I. Sh— sh, here comes Mrs. 
Martin.” 

At that moment Monica came in sight at 
the foot of the stairs, and began the ascent very 
slowly, but with such an indescribable look of 
relief, as the sun began to light up the big stair- 
case window and to shine through on her face, 
that both Oswin and Ethel were inexpressibly 
touched. 

“ I’ll go away,” muttered Oswin. “ I don’t 
want to meet her again just yet.” 

And Ethel feeling the same, they both dis- 
appeared along opposite corridors, before 
Monica reached the top of the staircase. 

To this eventful night and morning there sue- 


Blackmail, 


271 


ceeded a period of beautiful calm. Martin 
was for some time in a dangerous condition, 
but he particularly desired that the house-party 
should not be broken up on his account, and 
as the house was large and roomy, there was 
no need for them to disperse to ensure quiet 
for the patient. 

Mrs. Jesmond-Cray was easily persuaded to 
stay, now that she had been induced to believe 
that Oswin Smith was attracted by her younger 
daughter. And Oswin, for some occultreason, 
did his best to encourage her in her fond belief. 

In the meantime, Gladys continued to take 
her morning walks, and to return from them 
with a very bright color and a cheerfulness of 
manner that lasted through the whole of the 
day. On nearing the house, on her return from 
these solitary promenades, she would frequently 
be met by Oswin, who would converse with 
her for a few moments as they came in sight of 
mama’s windows. 

And whether this was part of a deep-laid 
plot of Sir Michael’s, or whether it was “ devil- 
ment ” of Oswin’s, it had a very soothing effect 
upon Mrs. Cray. 

A sort of shamefacedness had come over 
Oswin and Ethel in their relations with each 
other. Neither seemed to have energy for 
more than an occasional half-hearted skirmish. 
But this was just enough to keep the rest of 


272 The Plain Miss Cray. 

the household amused, and to prevent their 
suspecting that the combatants were really 
ready to lay down their arms on the smallest 
excuse. 

And then came the joy of knowing that 
Martin was out of danger, and he and Monica 
passed into a haven of peace and rest, all the 
sweeter, perhaps, that both knew they could 
not hope to stay there very long. 

Neither spoke of the future at all, and little 
of the past ; it was enough for both that for 
the present each could see the face of the 
other, feel the touch of a beloved hand. 

Monica knew that this restful time was help- 
ing Martin to recovery. Martin knew that while 
she could remain under his roof she was safe. 

So the days went by, until another month 
had passed, and the days began to shorten to- 
wards winter. The breaking up of the party 
was talked of again and again ; and in Monica's 
eyes there came the anxious look which fore- 
boded the parting she knew to be inevitable. 
Still Martin kept his room, perhaps pleading 
hie slow convalescence to induce Monica to 
stay with him. 

Mrs. Laffan said nothing, whatever she may 
have thought of her son’s strange accident. 
And although Mrs. Cray still had a good deal 
to say upon the subject, nobody paid any at- 
tention to her. 


Blackmail. 


273 


While things were going on thus smoothly, 
and outwardly in perfect peace, Monica got an- 
other shock. She had retired to her room one 
chilly October evening to dress for dinner, 
when she heard the rattle of the little pebbles 
against the window. 

And this time the summons meant farewell 
to Martin, farewell to happiness. 

Monica drew near the window with a weight 
as of lead at her heart. 


274 


The Plain Miss Cray. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

THE SUMMONS. 

It was fortunate for Monica that, at the 
moment when she heard the sound of Der- 
rick’s summons, the rattling of the pebbles 
against the window, her maid was out of the 
room. 

She took the precaution of turning the key 
in the lock of the door before she opened the 
window. 

On the terrace below, she could just make 
out his figure in the darkness. 

As soon as she appeared, she heard Der- 
rick’s voice, in a hoarse whisper, — 

“ I must see you. Don’t go down to dinner. 
Go into the room over the portico.” 

And without waiting for any answer, the fig- 
ure disappeared. 

She closed the window with trembling 
fingers. She did not dare to disobey, know- 
ing well how resolute Derrick’s character was, 
and how unscrupulous he was as to the means 
he used to gain his ends. It was evident that 


The Summons. 275 

he was more determined than ever to get 
whatever it was that he wanted, since this com- 
mand of his, to go into a particular room, 
seemed plainly to denote that he intended to 
make an entry into the house by that way. 

At first she thought of consulting the shrewd 
Ethel upon the dilemma in which she found 
herself. But what could the girl do ? If she 
were to take the possible course of telling Mar- 
tin of Monica’s difficulties, there would be an- 
other meeting between the two men, and Mon- 
ica could not but fear that the honest one 
would again be made the victim of the 
knave. 

So she unlocked her door, keeping as calm 
a demeanor as she could, and, instead of dress- 
ing for dinner, put on a warm tea-gown and 
sent her maid down-stairs with a message to 
Mrs. Laffan that she had a headache and 
should not be able to come down. 

Then she went into the room indicated by 
Derrick, drew an old-fashioned davenport 
near the fire that was burning brightly in the 
grate, and taking out her writing materials, sat 
down to write a letter. 

It was a very short one, and when she had 
finished it, she directed it simply to “ Martin 
Laffan, Esq.,” and pressed a kiss upon the 
name. Then she sat back in her chair, and 
laying her head against the cushioned back, 


276 The Plain Miss Cray. 

closed her eyes and waited, with mouth lirmly 
shut and her hands gripping the sides of her 
chair. 

It was a beautiful room, this oddly-shaped 
apartment, stretching out over the portico in 
the front of the house, which Martin had ap- 
pointed to be her own boudoir, and had in- 
sisted on doing up for her. The walls were of a 
deep rose color ; and the old-fashioned furni- 
ture, the painted cabinets, the papier-mache 
chairs, the harp, upon which Martin’s mother 
had played in her youth, harmonized pleas- 
antly enough with modern rose and pale blue 
hangings, a few quaintly-shaped easy-chairs, 
and with the handsome silver candlesticks 
and candelabra which held the wax candles 
which afforded all the light to be had except 
that from the fire. 

Monica, in her warm-looking gray cloth 
gown, with its border and trimming of dark 
fur, made a beautiful picture in the arm-chair 
by the fire. 

Martin thought so when, in answer to a 
very soft tap at the door, Monica called out, 
“ Come in,” and he stood on the threshold. 

For a few seconds he did not advance, 
neither did Monica turn round. She expected 
her maid with a message from old Mrs. Laffan, 
or one of the other servants with something 
for her to eat. When there was no further 


The Summons. 277 

movement however, she turned her head, and 
sprang up on seeing who the intruder was. 

During the last few days he had been well 
enough to have joined the family circle, as she 
well knew. It was only the fear that, when he 
was once off the sick list, Monica would leave 
the house, that had kept him a convalescent 
so long. 

She trembled as she stood up before him. 

“ Ought you to leave your room so soon ? ” 
asked she, trying to speak with reproachful 
coldness. 

“ Oh,” said he, simply, “ you know that’s all 
right. Why are you not going down to dinner ?” 

“ Who told you I was not going down ? ” 

“ Do you think a movement of yours es- 
capes me ? Do you think I take no interest — ” 

As he spoke he came forward, and looking 
at the davenport, to see how she had been en- 
gaged, he saw the note adressed to himself. 
She would have taken it up and thrown it into 
the fire, but he was too quick for her. 

“ This is mine,” he said gravely, as he snatced 
the note. He did not open it, however, though 
Monica turned away quickly to give him the 
opportunity of reading it. There was another 
pause, and then she turned round impatiently. 

“ Why don’t you read it?” 

“ Because there’s no need. This letter is to 
tell me you’re going away.” 


278 The Plain Miss Cray. 

She leaned against the mantelpiece, her 
whole attitude telling of despair so deep that 
it had become recklessness. ' 

“Yes. Well?” 

“ Why at this particular time ? ” 

“ What does that matter ? It must be done. 
The sooner it’s done the better. It’s — it’s only 
getting harder, you know. Don’t try to stop 
me any longer. The greatest kindness you can 
do me now is to let me go as quickly as I can.” 

“ Very well.” There was a short silence. 
Then he asked, “Will you let me know where 
you are ? ” 

A struggle with herself. Martin shivered 
for he knew what was going on in her heart. 
At last she said, without looking at him, — 

“ No. The severance must be complete, you 
know that.” 

“ Are you going alone ? ” 

She drew a long breath, and then turned 
upon him with a wild fire in her eyes. 

“ Don’t ask me that. Don’t ask me anything. 
Just — just let me go.” 

“ Very well, Monica. You won’t — you won’t 
kiss me, I suppose ? ” 

“ I — I — mustn’t.” 

“Yet you’ve kissed me every night while I 
was ill ? ” 

She turned upon him with surprise. 

“ How do you know that?” she asked in a 


The Summons. 


279 

whisper. “ I always waited till you were 
asleep ! ” 

He laughed a little, sadly enough. 

“And I always waited till you had kissed 
me before I went to sleep.” 

“ You deceived me, then ? ” 

“ Yes, I suppose so. It was my turn.” 

Monica uttered a sob. 

“ Never mind. Good-by.” 

He was walking to wards the door. She flew 
after him, and held out her arms. 

“ Right— or wrong — ” she murmured. “ For 
the last — last time.” They clung to each other, 
looked each into the other’s sad eyes, and ex- 
changed One long kiss that carried the fire in 
the heart of each to the lips of the other. 

Then it was Monica who tore herself from 
him, and waved him away. He left her, stag- 
gering out like a blind man, and she remained 
by the door, listening hungrily to his footsteps 
as they died away on the stairs. 

Then she went back to the fire, shivering. 

She had hardly regained her seat when there 
came a sharp tap at the window. Springing 
up from her chair, Monica ran to each of the two 
doors, and locked them before she raised the 
window-sash. 

“ Oh, don’t come in, pray don’t come in ! ” 
cried she, imploringly. “ Somebody may come 
up at any minute ! ” 


28o The Plain Miss Cray. 

Without paying the smallest heed to her 
entreaty, Derrick had already climbed from the 
ivy which was supporting him over the sill ; 
and bending low to avoid the sash he came 
nimbly into the room. 

“I’ll not stay more than a quarter of a 
second, if you’ll give me what I want,” said he. 

“ More money ; oh, I can’t, I can’t,” cried 
Monica. “ Last time, when I gave you that 
hundred and ten pounds, you promised to 
leave me alone.” 

“ My dear girl,” said Derrick, who was by 
this time standing in the middle of the room, 
shaking the leaves and twigs from his clothes, 
and looking round with an attentive scrutiny 
of the furniture, “ there’s nothing I should like 
better than to be able to leave you alone. But 
unkind necessity forbids. This brute Luke, 
who is so rightly called the Scamp, has rec- 
ognized me, as you said he would, and he 
threatens all sorts of nice things if I don’t pay 
him for his brother’s roan mare, a piece of 
animated cat’s meat that I borrowed just be- 
fore I left the country, and that walked into a 
sausage-machine before I had had time to re- 
turn it.” 

“You had better get away as fast as you can, 
then. Luke’s not a man to be played with.” 

“ I’m sure I don’t want to play with him. 
It’s not all amusing. I want to pay him off, if 


The Summons. 281 

only you’ll be good-natured, and lend me the 
money.” 

“ I tell you I haven’t any, really haven’t any. 
I had to borrow the last.” 

“ Borrow this, then.” 

“ No,” cried she, with spirit. " I gave you 
enough money before to pay this debt of yours, 
and to keep you out of danger. You didn’t 
choose to use it for either of those things, but 
that wasn’t my fault. And now you have no ex- 
cuse for risking yourself here again, for Martin 
Laffan’s out of danger, and I’m going away at 
once.” 

Derrick looked bitterly disappointed. 

“ You haven’t made it up with him, then ? 
I thought — really I did — that a little light flesh- 
wound would give you just the excuse you 
wanted for remaining with him.” 

Monica made a gesture of impatience and 
disgust. 

“ You had better go now,” she said shortly. 
“ If Mr. Laffan comes up, I shall not intercede 
for you again.” 

Derrick laughed disagreeably, and began to 
feel in one of his coat-pockets. 

” Perhaps, my dear, he’ll need your interces- 
sion more than I. Remember, my love, that 
I carry my life in my hand already, and ” — his 
tone assumed extraordinary ferocity — “ that 
your lips are sealed.” 


282 The Plain Miss Cray. 

Monica’s spirit flashed up into her eyes, 

“ You would hurt Martin again ! ” cried she, 
the hatred and loathing she felt expressing it- 
self in look and tone and gesture. “ Oh, but 
you shall not ! I will give you up myself 
rather ! ” 

And she ran across the room to the wide 
bell-rope that hung near the fireplace. 

But the agile Derrick seized the rope at the 
same time, and taking out his pocket-knifei 
hacked at the old-fashioned worsted work until 
he had severed it high up above Monica’s 
head, 

“ No, no, dear,” said he, in the easiest of 
tones, as he did this, “ no unladylike violence, 
please. Let us remember, above all things, 
our exalted social position, and let us act, in 
this most trying situation, with dignity and 
calmness.” His tone changed again abruptly, 
and became excited as he went on. “ What 
are those things in your ears ? And on your 
fingers? Eh? Diamonds, ain’t they ? Well, 
well, you won’t begrudge me those, surely ! ” 

And as he spoke, he turned from the severed 
bell-rope, seized her hands, and began to twist 
the rings off the fingers with great dexterity. 

Monica struggled with all her strength. 

“ But they’re not mine. They’re Mr. Laf- 
fan’s. They’re part of the family jewels that 
he’s had made up for me ! ” 


The Summons. 


283 

But Derrick struggled more successfully than 
she. Already two of the rings were in his 
pocket. 

“ Ah, what it is to have a family ! ” cried he, 
with mock admiration, as he proceeded to try 
to get out her earrings, which were a pair of 
fair-sized diamonds. “ And jewels to corre- 
spond ! Now I could never afford you those, 
alas ! ” 

But Monica, not sparing herself in her at- 
tempts to get away, fought like a tigress to pro- 
tect the jewels which belonged to Martin, and 
succeeded in freeing herself before Derrick 
could get out the earrings. 

Seeing himself foiled, he assumed a still 
more good-humored tone. 

“ Not the earrings ? Oh, very well. I won’t 
insist, since you object so strongly.” And he 
turned over in his hands the four rings he had 
seized. “ Perhaps one of these will satisfy 
Luke ! ” 

“ You’d better not try,” said Monica, scorn- 
fully. “ Luke’s not a thief.” 

“ Come, my dear, don’t be spiteful,” retorted 
Derrick, coolly, as he pushed up the window- 
sash a little further, and got one leg over the 
sill. “ Good-by, dear, good-by. If you’re go- 
ing away, I daresay I shall run across you some 
day, and you can make yourself helpful and 
useful to me, as you promised. I wish Laffan 


284 The Plain Miss Cray. 

would keep his ivy properly nailed up,” he 
added petulantly, as the creeper gave way 
under his foot at his first step downward. 
“ Good-by, dear, good-by ! " 

And, waving his hand airily. Derrick dis- 
appeared below the window-ledge. Monica 
watched him for a few anxious moments as he 
went down ; then the sound of some one try- 
ing the handle of one of the doors of the room 
startled her. 





The Buaglary. 


285 


CHAPTER XXII. 

THE BURGLARY. 

“ Mayn’t I come in, Monica ? ” cried Ethel’s 
voice. 

Monica shut down the window as softly as 
she could, ran to the door and unlocked it, 
crying,— 

“ Ethel ! Oh, yes, do come in.” 

Ethel looked round in surprise. 

“ Locked in ? And you’ve been crying ? 
What’s the matter ? ” 

Monica tried to smile. 

“ It’s nothing, at least — nothing new.” 

“ The fact is you’ve been overdoing it since 
Mr. Laffan’s accident,” said Ethel, severely. 
“ Sitting up all night with him while he was ill, 
and running about all day with his mother. 
No wonder you have headaches now that he’s 
about again.” 

And she looked at Monica suspiciously. 

“ Why do you look at me like that ?” 

“ My dear,” answered Ethel, “I never believe 
in headaches : I’ve suffered too much from 
them myself. There’s the sulky headache, the 


286 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

savage headache, the jealous headache, and a 
few other varieties. Which sort are you suf- 
fering from ? ” 

“ You’ll know to-morrow,” said Monica, lay- 
ing her hand on the davenport. “ I’m just 
going to write to Mrs. Laffan. You were quite 
right, Ethel ; I ought to go. And this time 
I’m really going.” 

“ Oh, but Martin ! What will happen to 
him ? ” said Ethel, in a voice full of alarm. 
“ If you were going at all, you ought to have 
gone before. Now that he’s still pulled down 
by his illness, I don’t know how he’ll stand the 
shock.” Monica turned away to hide the tears 
that welled up to her eyes. “ To-night, at 
dinner,” went on Ethel, “ he was restless, ner- 
vous, looking at your place a hundred times, 
and showing in his eyes that he was missing 
you, though he knew you were only up 
here.” 

“ Was he at dinner, then ? ” asked Monica. 

“Yes. Can’t you — don’t you think you had 
better stay a little longer, now you’ve stayed 
so long ?” 

Monica burst out wildly, — 

“ No, no, no. You may trust me, Ethel, I’d 
stay if I could.” 

“ You’re not afraid,” said Ethel, diffidently, 
“of — of Martin’s doing some harm to himself ?” 

A low cry escaped Monica’s lips at this sug- 


The Burglary. 287 

gestion. Pale and trembling, she turned to 
her friend. 

“Oh, no, no,” she said quickly. “He 
wouldn’t, for my sake he wouldn’t. I’ve seen 
him ; and he understands.” 

Ethel bowed her head in silence, and the 
two sat beside the fire, both unhappy and de- 
jected, until they were startled by a knock at 
the door by which Ethel had entered the room. 
Instead of saying anything, they looked at each 
other inquiringly. 

“ May I come in ? ” said Oswin Smith’s 
voice. 

Ethel jumped up. 

“ Mr. Smith ! ” she exclaimed impatiently. 
“ One can never get away from him ! ” 

Distressed as she was, Monica smiled a 
little. 

“ I don’t think you try very hard,” said she. 
“ And why should you ? He’s a good fellow. 
He has helped me in the most chivalrous 
manner.” 

“ Has he ? ” asked Ethel, without surprise. 

“ Yes. He has lent me money, money I can 
never pay back.” 

Again the voice spoke louder than before, — 

“ Mayn’t I come in ? ” 

It was Ethel who, at a sign from Monica, 
called out, with her head in the air, in an im- 
patient tone, — 


288 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

“ Oil, yes, yes, come in, pray ! ” 

And in he came, with a rather grave look on 
his face. 

“ I don’t want to alarm you unnecessarily,” 
he began ; “ but I thought it better to come 
and warn you that — that — that, well, to put it 
shortly, that there’s goingto be no end of a row.” 

Ethel sprang up from the chair in which she 
had been sitting, 

“ Row ! What ! Where ? ” cried she. 

“ Everywhere, ’’replied Oswin, simply. “ It’s 
down-stairs at present, but it’s coming up dir- 
ectly.” Monica, who had not uttered a word 
since he came in, crept round Ethel’s chair, 
and watched his face intently. “ The fact is 
Mrs. Cray has seen — ” He broke off, and 
turned apologetically to Ethel. “ You know 
what a knack she has of seeing things. She 
saw from the window of the dining-room a man 
climbing down the ivy at the side of the 
portico.” 

“Oh, what did she want at the window?” 
cried Ethel, irritably. 

“Well !” said Monica, sharply. 

“ She screamed, very properly,” Oswin went 
on, “ and also very properly, turned to tell 
Martin and the rest of us that there was a 
burglar running away.” 

“And what — what did Martin do — say?” 
asked Monica, faintly. 


The Burglary. 289 

“ He said it was nonsense, imagination, and 
he shut the window. That made Mrs. Cray 
angry, very properly, and she’s coming up- 
stairs to show him whether it was nonsense or 
not.” 

Monica tried to laugh. 

“ Of course it was nonsense. Could a bur- 
glar have got into the house and out again with- 
out my seeing him, when I’ve been up here all 
the time ?” 

“ Of course not,” replied Oswin, promptly. 
“ That’s what you’ll have to tell her. But she 
won’t believe you.” 

Monica began to walk up and down the 
room, much disturbed. 

“I think you’d better not see mama just 
now, dear,” said Ethel. “ Until she’s — she’s 
got over her fright a little, and — and grown 
calmer. I’ll say the headache’s got worse, and 
you’ve gone to lie down.” 

And as she spoke, she put her arm round 
Monica’s waist, and led her gently towards the 
door which led to her bedroom. 

Monica yielded. She had felt horribly al- 
armed indeed by the prospect of meeting Mrs. 
Jesmond-Cray and her impertinent questions. 

“ Thank you, thank you, Ethel. You’re 
always kind,” whispered she. She turned at 
the door to look at Oswin, and to add grate- 
fully, in a low voice, “ And you too, Mr. Smith.” 
19 


290 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

The moment she had left the room, closing 
the door behind her, Oswin glanced signifi- 
cantly at Ethel, and then looked down at the 
floor. He had something else to tell, she felt 
sure. 

“Well, was that all mama said?” asked 
Ethel, in a low voice. 

“ Unfortunately, no. She said she didn’t 
believe it was a burglary at all, and advised 
Martin to come and see if his wife’s headache 
was better.” 

“ Oh, how could she ?” cried Ethel. 

“ Upon my word I can’t think why people 
haven’t more tact than to guess the truth like 
that.” 

“ The truth ! ” cried Ethel, startled. 

“ Why, yes. I know something about that 
burglar, and so, I think, do you ! ” 

“ I didn’t until this moment,” answered 
Ethel, confused. “ But now — I begin to guess.” 
She paused a moment, and then asked with 
great abruptness, “ What do you know ? ” 

Oswin was cautious. He did not answer im- 
mediately. When he did he spoke like an old 
diplomatist. 

“ If I give you my information, will you 
give me yours ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“You can trust me ? ” 

“Well, Monica says she does. She says you’ve 


291 


The Burglary. 

lent her money. Now, why did you do it?” 
And her tone became judicial. “ You must 
have known it was to be spent in blackmail.” 

Oswin answered with a sort of despera- 
tion, — 

“ Well, even if I did guess, what could I do? 
Martin was ill, and would have nobody but 
her near him. I remembered the note. Knew 
there must be another chap. Thought other 
chap had better be kept quiet till Martin was 
well again. Now, your information, please ! 
Who is the other chap ? ” 

“ Her husband,” replied Ethel, laconically. 

Oswin whistled softly. 

“ No ! And who’s he ? ” 

Ethel answered in the same tone as be- 
fore, — 

“The man who shot Captain Malcolm.” 

Oswin brightened up a little. 

“ That’s all right. Then we can hang him.” 

But Ethel took him up impatiently. 

“ No, we can’t. He won’t give us the 
chance, for one thing. And for another, you 
can’t marry the widow of a man who’s been 
hanged.” 

“ Can’t you ? Then you don’t know Mar- 
tin Laffan !” retorted Oswin, with decision. 
“ Besides the man who’s mad enough to want 
to marry any particular woman, is mad enough 
for anything.” 


292 The Plain Miss Cray. 

Ethel raised her eyebrows and looked 
prim. 

“ I thought jibes at marriage were the pri- 
vate property of the comic papers.” 

“ Oh, I’m not jibing at marriage,” said Os- 
win. “ Marriage is a necessary, if an overrated, 
institution, of which most of us avail ourselves 
at one time or other. But the sane man 
marries because he wishes to be married ; it 
is only the mad one who marries because he 
believes that one particular woman is neces- 
sary to his happiness. Monica’s very sw'eet 
and charming now, but she will grow into 
quite a commonplace old lady, with a fidgety 
fear of draughts, who will be bored when 
Martin reads her the political articles in the 
paper.” 

“ If she did allow him to read any such 
thing, she’d deserve to be bored,” retorted 
Ethel. “ But, I only wish,” she added with a 
sigh, “ your forecast might come true.” 

“It will,” said Oswin, with decision. “If 
you wish hard enough for anything, there’s 
always a danger that you’ll get it. But to wish for 
a woman, is absolutely fatal. A woman for 
whom one has shot oneself too.” 

Ethel looked at him furtively. 

“ You don’t believe then that he shot himself 
by accident, as he said ? ” 

“ Of course not,” replied Oswin, contempt- 


293 


The Burglary. 

uously. “ If all the reported accidents with 
firearms were accidental, Government would 
prohibit the use of firearms to men just as 
mothers forbid the playing with matches to 
children.” 

There was a long pause. At last, after 
glancing at Ethel several times, and getting 
no hint of any intention on her part to reply, 
he asked sharply, — 

“Well, why don’t you contradict me ? ” 

She hesitated a few moments, even then, 
before saying soberly, — 

“ Because I think perhaps there’s something 
in what you say.” 

But this answer, instead of molifying Oswin, 
seemed to fill him with consternation. He 
stared at her and frowned. 

“ But that never used to be reason enough 
for your agreeing with me,” he grumbled at 
last. 

Ethel drew up her head. “You’re quite 
right ; the truce has lasted too long. We’re 
losing our martial spirit. We — ” 

But before she could get any further, they 
both heard Mrs. Cray’s petulant, querulous 
voice outside, accompanied by Beckingham’s 
croaking laugh. Ethel started. 

“ Oh, there’s mama ! Hunting up poor 
Monica, I suppose.” 

The door burst open, and Mrs. Jesmond-Cray 


294 The Plain Miss Cray. 

sailed in, with Beckingham stumbling over 
the train of her dress. She went direct to 
the window, pointing to the catch, which had 
not been drawn. 

“There, Mr. Beckingham, what did I tell 
you ? ” said she triumphantly. “ There’s the 
window the man got out of. I’ve no doubt. And 
this was the room, I understand, where Mon- 
ica was left with a headache, when we went 
down to dinner. I should be very sorry to be 
uncharitable, or unkind ; but I really think, if 
it was only a burglar, that Martin Laffan had no 
right to snap at me and almost tell me to hold 
my tongue when I suggested that the case 
should be inquired into, and that we ought to 
look about for any traces of his presence.” 

And Mrs. Cray pushed up the sash noisily, 
and looked out. 

Ethel went up to her mother, and put a 
coaxing arm around her. At the same time 
she threw a glance full of indignation at the 
old mischief-maker Beckingham. For she 
knew very well that Mrs. Cray had not courage 
or initiative enough to have made this dis- 
turbance if it had not been for the support and 
encouragement of Martin’s uncle. 

“ Mama, I wish you wouldn’t,” whispered 
she. “ You’re only making everybody uncom- 
fortable. No doubt Mr. Laffan is now making 
all necessary inquiries.” 


The Burglary. 295 

Mrs. Jesmond-Cray turned upon her daugh- 
ter with a lofty manner. 

“ My dear, you’re too young to know any- 
thing about these things ! ” said she. 

And she shook hej^self free from the girl’s 
hands. Ethel stepped back and looked at 
Oswin. 

“Oh, am I?” said she. 

Mrs. Cray continued her investigations with 
an air of importance. 

“ Mr. Beckingham, look for yourself. The 
ivy’s all torn down. And the footprint here,” 
she turned and pointed to a dark mark on the 
carpet, “is not that of a hobnailed boot. And 
look at this and this.” At each word she 
pointed out traces of Derrick’s entrance in 
twigs and leaves on the floor, and in the fire- 
place. “ Now, is this the sort of thing that 
goes on in a properly-conducted establish- 
ment ? ” 

Old Beckingham croaked out his mis- 
chievous laugh. Things were in splendid 
train, he considered, and pointed to a break 
up which would be all in his favor. 

“ My dear madam,” said he, dryly, with a 
shrug of the shoulders, ‘you never know what 
does go on in a properly-conducted establish- 
ment ! If the master takes too much cham- 
pagne, it’s a fall in the hunting-held. If his 
wife has a black eye, it’s influenza. And when 


296 The Plain Miss Cray. 

the bailiffs are in, the house has been let for 
the season.” 

And he chuckled at his own wit. 

“ Then you agree with me in thinking this 
was something more than an attempted bur- 
glary ? ” persisted the lady. 

The old man shrugged his shoulders again. 

“ Well, if it was,” said he, “ I’m told it’s not 
the first attempt that has been made lately. 
Of course, we must all of us hope,” he went 
on, with evident relish of his own malicious 
suggestions, “ that there won’t be a scandal, 
and an elopement, or anything of that sort. 
But really — ” 

Oswin Smith came forward, and cut in with 
a very cold, decided tone, — 

“ May I suggest that this is scarcely the tone 
in which to discuss the affairs of the people 
whose hospitality we are enjoying ?” 

Mrs. Cray treated this remark, however, 
with superb scorn. 

“ Mr. Smith, there is something more im- 
portant than tones to be thought of now,” said 
she. “ As the mother of two young daugh- 
ters — ” 

“ Oh, mama, do leave us out this time ! ” in- 
terrupted Ethel. 

But Mrs. Cray went on without heeding her. 

“ My first thought must be for them. And 
a scandal ” — at this point she broke down in 


297 


The Burglary. 

agitation which was quite real — “ a scandal 
about the place wdiere they have been staying 
so long — ” 

Ethel, really sorry for her mother’s distress, 
now that she had dropped her dignified tone, 
and shown her heart, went up to her. Mrs. 
Cray sank on a sofa. 

“ Oh, mama, we’re all right,” said she, re- 
assuringly. 

But Mrs, Cray repulsed her in an accession 
of grief. 

“ Oh, it doesn’t matter for you !” cried she, 
dismally, 

Ethel drew back with a comical look. And 
Oswin, who was near enough to whisper to her, 
said in her ear, — 

“That’s kind, isn’t it ?” 

Ethel, with a little shrug of acquiescence in 
her mother’s verdict, dismissed Oswin with a 
look, intimating that he had better go up and 
distract Beckingham’s attention, if he could, 
from her mother’s silly speeches. He under- 
stood and obeyed, with intelligent discretion 
for which the girl felt grateful. 

And Mrs. Cray went on with her meanings. 

“ But Gladys— what will become of Gladys 
now ? It’s impossible not to see that this has 
spoilt her prospects. ’ 

With a brilliant inspiration, Ethel assented 
gravely to this view. 


298 The Plain Miss Cray. 

“ I’m afraid it has a little, perhaps,” said she. 
“ But, mama, you might do worse than fall 
back upon Sir Michael O’Keeffe.” Without 
looking up, Mrs. Cray shuddered. Ethel went 
on, “ He’s awfully fond of her, and he’s really 
a good fellow, who would make her a good 
husband.” 

In the midst of her sobs, Mrs. Jesmond- 
Cray suddenly paused to consider this point. 

“I’m really almost afraid it’s the only thing 
left to do ! ” she moaned out at last. And as 
she went on, she brightened up a little. “ Of 
course she would have to live in Ireland, so 
we needn’t say anything about the farming ; 
and we could speak of her as Lady O’Keeffe 
of Ballina — whatever it is ; and we needn’t say 
it’s three cottages thrown together in a peat 
bog ! ” 

“ I really think she’d be happy, mama,” said 
Ethel, more brightly. 

Mrs. Cray sighed, but spoke briskly. 

“ Oh, well. I’m sure I hope so ! But, of 
course, that’s her lookout. Where is the 
man ? ” she asked with a sudden determination 
to lose no more time. 

“ He’s down-stairs in the drawing-room, with 
Gladys, now, I think. Shall I send to him to 
speak to you ? ” 

Mrs. Cray dried her eyes with energy. 

“ Yes, if it has to be done, we may as well 


The Burglary. 299 

bring him to the point at once,” said she, with 
a sigh, “ before he hears too much about this 
affair ! ” 

“ Oh, mama, it wouldn’t make any difference 
to him,” said Ethel, confidently. And she 
turned to Oswin. “ Mr. Smith, will you ask 
Sir Michael if he’ll come and speak to mama ? ” 
Oswin, who had been keeping Beckingham 
busy in talk, so that he could hear nothing of 
this, interrogated Ethel with his eyebrows. 
Receiving an affirmative reply, he said, — 

“ Certainly.” 

And he went at once to the door. Becking- 
ham hobbled after him. 

“ What, what ? ” asked the old mischief- 
maker before they were well outside. ‘‘ Has 
she hooked O’Keeffe ? ” 

“No,” said Oswin, drily; “ it’s O’Keeffe, I 
think, who has hooked her ! ” 

“ What, what ! Don’t 5^00 think he’ll come 
up to the scratch, then ? ” asked Beckingham, 
eagerly. 

There was something antipathetic to the 
malevolent old gentleman in the idea of this 
little love-story ending happily. 

Oswin looked dubious. 

“ Don’t know, I’m sure,” said he. “ But if 
something O’Keeffe hinted at is correct, Mrs. 
Jesmond-Cray won’t have it all her own way at 
the forthcoming interview.” 


300 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

“ What, what ! Will O’Keeffe have the 
pluck to jilt her ? ” asked Beckingham, hope- 
fully. 

Oswin looked at him inscrutably. 

“We shall see,” said he, as he went into the 
drawing-room. 


A Shock for Mrs. Cray. 


301 


CHAPTER XXIII.' 

A SHOCK FOR MRS. CRAY. 

Now Ethel felt rather sorry for her mother ; 
much as she hated the maneuvers and strat- 
agems by which Mrs. Jesmond-Cray tried to 
obtain a rich husband for the pretty youngest 
daughter, Ethel knew that the sentiments which , 
prompted her were in a measure honest ones, 
and that she firmly believed that she was doing 
the best possible thing for Gladys when she 
considered not the man but the money in the 
matter of the young girl’s marriage. 

But at the same time she knew how tactless 
and simple-minded her mother was, and now 
that good fortune seemed to hover over Sir 
Michael and his suit, Ethel was afraid that 
Mrs. Cray might, by some injudicious speech, 
so irritate the hot-tempered Irishman that she 
would prevent, instead of forwarding, a mar- 
riage which would be all for poor Gladys’s 
happiness. 

She was therefore anxious to remain in 
the room, during the coming interview with 


302 


The Plain Miss Cray, 

Sir Michael O’Keeffe, to temper her mother’s 
new graciousness, and make it seem less sud- 
den. 

Mrs. Cray, however, was determined to have 
no interference from her elder daughter, whom 
she underrated in the most preposterous 
manner. 

“ You can leave me now,” she said, turning 
in a superb manner to Ethel, “ while I speak 
to this boor.” 

Ethel could not but think this epithet most 
unpromising. 

“ Oh, mama, you’d better let me stay,” said 
she. “ It won’t do for you to talk to him as if 
you looked down upon him, yovx know.” 

“ I hope, Ethel, you’ll allow me to know 
something of the attitude I ought to assume,” 
said her mother, tartly. “ I don’t think I’ve 
looked after two daughters for all these years 
to take lessons from you at last.” 

“ Very well, mama. But remember that 
Gladys’s happiness depends upon this man, if 
you mean to accept him as her husband.” 

“ Will you please leave me, Ethel, and allow 
me to know best what to do and what to 
say ? ” repeated Mrs. Cray, more loftily than 
ever, 

Ethel moved slowly to the door which led to 
Monica’s room. Anything was better than 
irritating her foolish mother further. 


A Shock for Mrs. Cray. 303 

“ Very well, mama. I’ll go and see how 
Monica is,” said she. 

But Mrs. Cray, elated with her first success 
in getting her self-willed daughter to do what 
she wished grew more autocratic than before. 

“ I forbid you to do anything of the kind,” 
said she. 

Ethel’s lips tightened. 

“Yes, mama,” said she. 

But she opened the dcor as she spoke. 

“ Do you mean to obey me ?” 

Ethel paused, but she did not hesitate. 

“ No, mama,” was her soft-voiced reply. 

“ And why not, pray ? ” 

“ I’m too old. You know, mama, I always 
obey you when you tell me to do anything 
that’s for your good and my good. But when 
you tell me to do anything which is bad for 
everybody, why, then— the lamb turns round 
and goes the other way ! ” 

There was a knock at the other door at that 
moment, and, without waiting for permission. 
Sir Michael opened it and came in. He was 
in evening dress, and he looked particularly 
handsome ; but in his merry blue eyes Ethel 
was sure that she detected a roguish twinkle 
which boded ill for her mother’s peace of 
mind during the forthcoming interview. In- 
deed, Sir Michael gave Ethel a merry look 
which seemed to threaten danger to the pomp- 


304 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

ous lady who was sitting in state on the sofa, 
trying with some difficulty to twist her face 
into a grimace full of affectionate welcome. 

Ethel gave him a look of entreaty. It 
seemed to say, “ As you are strong, be merci- 
ful.” 

Then, Mrs. Cray not having any more time 
to spare upon her, Ethel was suffered to leave 
the room and go in search of Monica. 

The baronet persisted in standing rather 
stiffly at a little distance from the sofa, though 
Mrs. Cray repeatedly invited him, with stately 
gestures, to take a chair near her. 

“ Smith tells me you wish to speak to me, 
Mrs. Cray,” he began. 

“ Yes, Sir Michael, it’s quite true that I do,” 
replied the lady, with a little sigh. “ And I 
thought we could talk better up here than 
down-stairs, where there are people coming in 
and out all the time.” 

“ Indeed, and it’s glad I am you care to speak 
to me anywhere,” said Sir Michael, “ for we all 
know I’m not a favorite of yours, Mrs. Cray.” 

Mrs. Cray tried to laugh, but she did so 
rather nervously. She noticed already a change 
in Sir Michael’s manner from the excessively 
humble to a more self-confident if not slightly 
aggressive mood. 

“Oh, it’s not fair to say that. I have always 
given you credit for splendid qualities under^ 


A Shock for Mrs. Cray. 305 

neath the surface ; and perhaps it was my own 
fault rather than yours that I thought I noticed 
a certain brusquerie which was hardly sympa- 
thetic, after the more polished manners of the 
men I see most of in England.” 

“ Fm afraid I am too rough a fellow for 
ladies of your fashion to get on with,” said Sir 
Michael, modestly, but with the same twinkle 
in his eye. 

Mrs. Cray took him up quickly. 

“ Not at all. The very fact that you have 
taken to wearing just what our own friends 
wear— and Fm sure it’s a great concession — 
shows that you haven’t taken my suggestions 
and remarks in the wrong spirit. And really. 
Sir Michael,” went on the good lady, putting 
up her long-handled eyeglasses, “ I wonder 
you haven’t taken to the dress before, for you 
look better in it than any of the other men do. 
It’s true, I assure you.” 

Sir Michael made a slight bow, with a sug- 
gestion of mock gratitude which made Mrs. 
Cray a little uneas}\ 

“ Pray take this chair. Sir Michael,” she 
said, with a little twittering laugh, as if she felt 
that he was very humorous and found him de- 
lightfully entertaining, “and listen to what I 
have to say. And I may tell you,” she went 
on playfully, “ that it’s something very nice.” 

Sir Michael sat down with portentous 
20 


3o 6 The Plain Miss Cray, 

gravity. The twinkle had gone out of his 
eyes, and he seemed determined not to be 
amused. 

“You must know that Ethel’s been with 
me,” went on Mrs. Cray, with cheery arch- 
ness, “ and Mr. Smith also, and they’ve been 
talking to me, and coaxing me, and persuading 
me, and telling me how fond you are of my 
darling daughter Gladys — ” 

Mrs. Cray came to an abrupt stop at the 
name, for Sir Michael, who had at last accepted 
her invitation to be seated, had started back, 
causing the lady some consternation by his 
abrupt movement. 

“ Your daughter Gladys ! ” said he, as if no 
subject had been further from his thoughts. 
Mrs. Cray gave him an anxious glance. 

“ They were saying,” she went on quickly, 
‘‘ what an excellent fellow you are, and quite 
the most kind-hearted and amiable man in— in 
— in — well, anywhere, in fact.” 

Sir Michael appeared for a moment quite 
overwhelmed by this unexpected graciousness. 
At last he said, in a very humble and diffident 
manner,— 

“ And me brogue, Mrs. Cray, sure, what did 
they say about me brogue ? ” 

Mrs. Cray was taken aback by these words, 
and was rendered still more uneasy by the 
tone she detected under his assumed excessive 


A Shock for Mrs. Cray. 307 

modesty. It was with a rather wry face that 
she smiled and answered, — 

“ Oh, well, really there’s something piquant, 
something characteristic about that. As long 
as it’s not too strong, and yours certainly is not 
— when one’s used to it, in fact, it’s rather pleas- 
ant than otherwise.” 

Sir Michael, sitting very upright, answered 
with the same menacing gravity as be- 
fore, — 

“ I’m glad of that now, Mrs. Cray : people 
told me you didn’t like it.” 

“ Well, you know,” and she smiled as 
sweetly as she could, “ I like it better now that 
I know you better.” 

“ I’m sorry you’ve been so long learning my 
good points,” said the baronet rather dryly. 
“ But sure it’s better you should find them out 
late than that you shouldn’t find them out at 
all, anyhow.” 

“ Well, you see. Sir Michael,” went on 
Mrs. Cray, insinuatingly, “ it wasn’t so much 
the man as the circumstances that I ob- 
jected to. When you proposed to my daugh- 
ter — ” 

Sir Michael started up from his chair. 

“ I beg your pardon, Mrs. Cray, but I never 
proposed to you for your daughter.” 

Mrs, Cray was rather taken aback. 

“You did not, to me — that — er — was one of 


3o 8 The Plain Miss Cray. 

my causes of complaint against you. But,” 
and her tone grew rather anxious, “ you spoke 
to Gladys.” 

Sir Michael frowned and answered very 
gravely, — 

“ I’m afraid, Mrs. Cray, that your daughter 
Gladys didn’t tell you all I said to her.” 

“ Oh, yes, she did,” answered Mrs. Cray, 
quickly. “ She said you were afraid to speak 
to me— that you were too proud — since you 
knew it would be of no use. But that you 
loved her very dearly — ” 

Sir Michael, frowning, and not looking at 
Mrs. Cray, interrupted her. 

“ That’s true, that’s true enough.” 

“ And that she was your ideal of a wife,” 
went on Mrs. Cray. “ Well, Sir Michael, I 
withdraw my refusal. Since you love her so 
dearly, and — and she loves you, I consent to 
your marrying her.” 

“ Then Gladys did not tell you everything,” 
said Sir Michael, firmly. “ I’m sorry, very 
sorry, Mrs. Cray, but I can’t marry Gladys, 
much as I love her.” 

Mrs. Cray stared at him in horror. 

“ Can’t marry her ! Can’t, do you say ? 
And why not ? ” 

“ Because,” replied Sir Michael, calmly, “I’m 
married already, and Gladys knows it ! ” 

Mrs. Cray rose from the sofa, and looked at 


A Shock for Mrs. Cray. 309 

him, for the moment speechless with indigna- 
tion. 

“ You’re married ! ” she said at last in a 
choking voice. “ And Gladys knows it ! ” 
He only folded his arms and looked down 
solemnly. “ And pray, pray, did the Laffans 
know — when they introduced you to us — as a 
bachelor — that you were not — not what you 
described yourself to be ? ” 

“ No, Mrs. Cray, they did not know. It’s 
my secret, and you wouldn’t have known it 
now if you hadn’t forced it from me ? ” said he, 
gravely. 

Mrs. Cray was already on her way to the 
door. She paused with her hand upon it to 
give him a withering look. 

‘‘ Sir Michael,” said she, in a voice which was 
half choked with genuine sobs, “ I knew before 
I came to Ireland that it was an uncivilized 
countr3^ But I expected to find humanity at 
least in its barbarians. You’ve broken my 
daughter’s heart, and mine ! ” 

And with a final sob, half genuine, half 
dramatic, Mrs. Cray left the room. 

The door had scarcely closed when the 
unfeeling Sir Michael began to perform a jig 
step, whistling to himself softly the while. 

“ Egad,” said he to himself, aloud, “ there’s 
one of those two breakages wouldn’t trouble 
me much.” 


310 


The Plain Miss Cray. 

And then he opened the door and listened, 
with a mischievous laugh in his eyes, to Mrs. 
Cray, who, on reaching the bottom of the 
staircase, was pouring out her woes, in mingled 
anger and mortification, to some one she had 
met. 

When the last sound of her voice had died 
away, Sir Michael, in his turn, went down-stairs, 
and in the hall he met Ethel, with Oswin, if 
not exactly in her train, yet hovering at no 
very great distance. 

“ Sir Michael, what have you been doing to 
mama ? ” asked Ethel, as he came down the 
staircase towards her. 

“ Yes, what have you been doing to mama ?” 
echoed Oswin. 

Sir Michael made his face as solemn as he 
could. 

“ Sure, it’d be more to the point to ask what 
mama’s been doing to me ! She’s called 
me a barbarian, for one thing : now what do 
you think of that ? ” 

“ Well, I think that, whatever annoyance 
you gave her,” answered Ethel, looking rather 
worried, “ she’ll go and visit it on poor Gladys.” 

His face changed. 

“ No, do you think that ? ” said he. “ Then 
I’ll go and give the poor child a helping hand.” 

And he ran off quickly in the direction of 
the drawing-room. 


A Shock for Mrs. Cray. 31 1 

Ethel had been wandering about the house 
disconsolately, unable to see Monica, who had 
shut herself up in her room and would not 
admit even her friend. She paused with her 
foot on the bottom stair. 

“ I wonder what Sir Michael’s been saying 
to mama, to make her dance off like that ! ” 
said she. “ She wouldn’t even speak to me ! ” 

“ Or to me,” said Oswin. 

Ethel took her foot off the stair, and came 
down with a spark of the old aggressiveness in 
her tone, — 

“ Oh, well, you know you’re in permanent 
disgrace for not trying to cut Sir Michael out." 

Oswin opened the door of the billiard-room, 
and Ethel went in. They both felt that a re- 
freshing skirmish was in store for them. 

“ That’s your fault,” said Oswin, as he fol- 
lowed her into the room. “ I’ve a good mind 
to tell Mrs. Cray how you choked me off at 
the very first.” 

“ Very well,” said Ethel, indifferently. “ You 
can if you like.” 

Oswin stamped his foot. 

“Will nothing rouse your spirit?” said he, 
impatiently. “ I’m dying for one of our old 
quarrels, but you won’t show fight.” 

“ Well, you see,” said Ethel, apologetically, 
“you’ve been so awfully nice lately, and you’ve 
made yourself so useful while Mr, Laffan has 


312 


The Plain Miss Cray, 

been ill, that you’ve appeared in quite a nev; 
light. Now, I can’t quarrel with a person with 
any zest unless I am spurred on by a little real 
dislike.” 

Oswin began to stroll, as if unconsciously, a 
little nearer to her, looking up at the ceiling as 
he came. 

“ And has the real dislike of me disappeared 
then ?” asked he, not without a catch in his 
voice which sounded uncommonly like the 
result of nervousness. “ Have you forgotten 
that — I’m an insufferable cad ?” 

Ethel quivered with hot and hearty indig- 
nation. 

“ I never said such a thing ! ” cried she. 

Oswin’s answer came quick upon her words. 

“ Of course you didn’t ! ” cried he, echoing 
her own tone. “ I’m sure you’re a person of 
too much discrimination to say such a thing.” 
For some reason she would have found it hard 
to define, Ethel looked down at her foot, 
which was on the fender, and began to move 
her hands nervously. Oswin went on, “ But 
I wish you could pluck up enough spirit for 
one of our old battles, all the same. They 
were so— so — so bracing ! ” There was a 
pause. Ethel only shook her head quite 
meekly, and said nothing. Oswin seemed to 
he struck by a happy thought. He came close 
beside her, and putting one of his own feet on 


313 


A Shock for Mrs. Cray, 

the fender within half a yard of hers, he leant 
on the mantelpiece, and said softly, “ I know 
hoiv we could get back to the old footing, 
always quarreling and bickering from morning 
till night ! ” 

There was another pause. Ethel did not 
speak, nor did she for a long time even raise 
her eyes. When she did that, with a sort of 
shamefaced inquiry, Oswin lavighed, quite as 
shamefaced as she. Then he looked down 
again, and there was another pause. 

“ It’s a strong measure, but it’s never known 
to fail,” he went on presently. 

But Ethel, laughing incredulously, suddenly 
took her foot off the fender, and went over 
towards the billiard-table, as if indignant at 
such folly. 

‘‘ Now, don’t you know what I mean ? ” 
asked Oswin, following her. 

Ethel laughed again, and then he laughed 
too. 

“ Wouldn’t it be a surprise for Mrs. Cray ? ” 
said he at last. 

At last she spoke contemptously. 

“ Yes,” cried she, turning upon him with 
a heightened color and flashing eyes, “ and 
wouldn’t everybody in town say,” and she 
mimicked the words of a young man at the 
clubs, in the drawling tone which a woman 
usually puts on for that purpose : “I say, 


314 The Plain Miss Cray. 

have you heard ? Mama Cray’s hooked young 
Smith for her ugly daughter ! ” She turned 
to Oswin, and spoke in her own voice. “ Now^ 
you know they’d say that,” said she. 

“ It’s very possible,” said Oswin coolly. 
“ But if the ugly daughter didn’t mind. I’ll 
answer for it, young Smith wouldn’t !” 

Ethel looked down at the billiard-table and 
hesitated. 

“ Do you really think me ugly ? ” 

Oswin did not immediately answer. The 
light was on her face from the lamps over 
the billiard-table. He frowned with an air of 
careful consideration, held his head first on 
one side and then on the other, examining her 
features with a minute scrutiny that brought 
the blood tingling to her cheeks. “ I’m not 
sure that I’m altogether an impartial judge,” 
he said at last, “ but if you’d only let me — ” 
He proceeded to take her chin in his right 
hand, to put his left arm round her shoulder 
and to raise her face gently towards his. 
Then, while her eyes were still cast down, and 
she still remained silent, he suddenly kissed 
her. “ No,” said he ; then, in a judicial tone, 
“ I don’t think you ugly. “ I’ve considered 
the matter carefully too ! ” 

Ethel sighed. 

“ All this is against my principles,” said 
she. “ I’ve never been condescended to 


A Shock for Mrs. Cra3^ 315 

before, and I’m really not sure that I 
like it.” 

“ It must be galling,” assented Oswin, as he 
gave her another kiss. “ In the abstract I’m 
sorry for you, but only in the abstract,” as she 
tried to draw herself away from him. “ On 
other grounds, I think I’m doing right. I 
feel as if I were drawing your teeth, you 
know, for the sake of humanity at large.” 

“Sacrificing yourself, in fact?” suggested 
she. 

“ And such is the nobility of my nature,” 
said Oswin, solemnly, but with a smile on his 
face which made Ethel’s heart beat fast, “that 
I’m enjoying the fine deed more than I’ve 
ever enjoyed anything in my life before.” 

“Oh ! ” cried Ethel, suddenly trj'ing to free 
herself from the arm he still had round her 
shoulder, “ there’s somebody at the door.” 

There had been no knock, no sound. But 
turning quickl^’^, Oswin saw that the dark face 
of Luke, the Scamp, was peering at them from 
the doorway. 


The Plain Miss Cray. 


X t6 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

AN ACCIDENT. 

OswiN stared at the man in surprise. Luke 
was not in his best clothes, and this intrusion, 
though not unprecedented on the Scamp’s 
part, was unusually informal. 

“ Luke, is that you ? What do you want ? ” 
asked Oswin, sharply. 

Luke saluted him respectfully, but made no 
apologies. He seemed excited, and his black 
eyes flashed and his hands moved nervously up 
and down the door as he advanced a step or 
two and said, — 

“ Could ye be afther telling me where I’ll 
find the master, sor-r ? That owld Saxon thief 
Prickett won’t tell me where he is, so I’ve got 
to look for him.” 

Oswin gathered from the man’s manner that 
something serious was in the wind, and he 
answered at once, — 

“ I haven’t seen him since dinner, Luke. 
What’s the matter ?” 

“ Shure, it’s an accident I’ve had, sor-r,” 


An Accident. 317 

said Luke, in a low voice, “ that I must be 
afther tellin’ Mr. Latfan about.” 

He had got no further with his explanation 
when Mrs. Cray, heralding her approach by 
muttered exclamations as she came across the 
hall, burst into the room. 

She uttered a little scream on seeing Luke. 

“ The burglar ? ” cried she, in alarm, as she 
ran to Oswin. 

Luke turned that she might see his face, and 
frowned. 

“Shure, no ma’am. I’m no burglar. I’m 
Luke and I want the master.” 

“ Mr. Laffan is in the drawing-room,” said 
Mrs. Cray, sitffly,when she had recovered from 
her momentary fright. “ But as he would not 
let me in, I presume it would be useless for 
you to attempt to enter.” 

“ I’ll be afther thrying, anyhow ! ” muttered 
Luke, as he saluted and went out of the room. 

Mrs. Cray, angry and excited, crossed the 
room and seated herself on the sofa. 

“I simply give up trying to understand the 
people of this place,” she said tartly, while 
Oswin listened politely, and Ethel slunk away 
into the background. “ I wish to see Mr. Laf- 
fan, and he shuts himself up with my daughter 
and his own infamous friend, this Sir Michael 
O’Whatever he calls himself. I try to see his 
wife, and I am directed to come in here and 




1 8 The Plain Miss Cray. 

wait till she comes. But of course she won’t 
come ; she won’t dare to appear.” 

“ She’s coming now, mama, I think,” ob- 
served Ethel, who had caught the sound of 
Monica’s voice in the hall. 

A moment later the door opened again, and 
Mrs. Laffan and Monica came in together. 
Monica, who was dressed in her outdoor 
things, seemed to be too feeble to stand 
without the support of old Mrs. Laffan’s kind 
arm. 

“ I’m sorry if I’ve kept you waiting, Mrs. 
Cray,” began Monica, gravely. “ But I’ve been 
summoned away rather suddenly, and I had 
something to say to ” — she turned and smiled 
affectionately into the face of Martin’s mother 
— “ to Mrs. Laffan before going.” 

“ My dear child ! ” whispered the elder lady 
tenderly into her ear. 

“ Don’t call me that. I don’t deserve it,” 
whimpered Monica. “You know everything 
now, and you know I don’t. Ethel,” and she 
held out both hands towards the younger lady, 
“ good-by, dear. Nobody knows how good you 
are,” she went on, when Ethel had run across 
the room and taken her outstretched hands, 
“ except me.” 

“ And me ! ” said Oswin, with great unex- 
pectedness. 

And he came up behind Ethel, put his hands 


An Accident. 


319 

lightly on her shoulders, and lightly kissed her 
forehead. 

Monica looked from the one to the other, 
and laughed aloud, in the face of her own dis- 
tress. Poor Mrs. Jesmond-Cray, however, to 
whom this action came with all the force of a 
revelation, started up from the sofa, without 
breath for so much as a cry, and remained 
staring through her eyeglasses at Oswin and 
Ethel, her lips moving, but no words coming 
forth. Then, while Monica and Oswin and 
Ethel still laughed softly in each other’s faces, 
the poor woman sank down in her seat again, 
trembling, paralyzed by the blow. 

“ I understand,” said Monica, softly, as she 
looked from the one to the other of tire two 
friends who had helped her in her troubles. 
“ But then I guessed, long ago, what was go- 
ing to happen.” 

Mrs. Cray found voice at last. 

“ I didn’t ! ” she murmured faintly. 

Oswin turned to her. 

“ I hope, Mrs. Cray, you have no objection 
to offer ? ” said he. 

Whereat Mrs. Cray, utterly nonplussed, could 
only shake her head, feeling that words were 
too weak to express the half of what she felt. 

Ever}'^body felt rather relieved when the 
sound of many voices in the hall turned their 
attention from the overwhelmed mother ; the 


320 The Plain Miss Cray. 

guilty pair who had brought her to such con- 
fusion retired to the end of the room, behind 
the billiard-table, as Martin, with Gladys on 
his arm, followed by Sir Michael, entered the 
room. 

There sneaked in after them, without any 
noise, the Scamp, Luke, who took up a modest 
position near the door, behind the baronet, and 
stood there like a statue while his master spoke. 

At the first sight of Monica, who had sunk 
down into a chair, where she sat with old Mrs. 
Laffan’s kind arm about her, Martin had started 
forward as if to go to her. He resisted this 
impulse, however, and turned to Mrs. Jesm.ond- 
Cray. 

“ Mrs. Cray,” said he, and he patted the 
trembling hand of pretty Gladys, as if to tell 
her to take courage, " I’ve been taken into the 
confidence of a naughty boy and an exceed- 
ingly naughty girl, who want me to intercede 
for them with you, and explain something.” 

Mrs. Cray rose nervously, and began to speak 
in a tremulous voice unlike her own. 

“ Really, Mr. Laffan, my daughters, both 
my daughters, and— and everybody, in fact, 
have been behaving so strangely this evening 
that you will have to explain very clearly to 
make me understand at all.” 

“ I will,” said Martin, gravely. “ These un- 
principled young people,” and he looked with 


An Accident. 


321 


an indulgent smile from Gladys to handsome 
Sir Michael, “ in the delusion that they couldn’t 
get on without each other, and in the fear that 
they might suddenly be parted, resorted to the 
extreme measure of getting quietly married — ’’ 

“ Married ! ” almost shrieked Mrs. Cray. 

“Ten days ago, at a registry office,” added 
Martin. 

Mrs. Cray moaned. 

“A registry office ! Only one degree better 
than jumping over a broomstick ! ” 

“ Sure, mama, dear,” sang out Sir Michael, 
gaily, “ we’re ready to do it over again. Gladys 
is rather sore over missing the cake.” 

For the first time Gladys herself spoke. She 
was merry and happy under all her nervous 
tremors. 

“ Oh, Mike, I’m not ! I hate sweet things. 
And besides, the cake always gets eaten up by 
the other people.” 

Everybody began to laugh at her, while 
Gladys, very prettily escaping from Martin, 
went to her mother and kissed her into pardon. 

While this was going on, Prickett came in, 
followed closely by old Beckingham, who was 
looking very jubilant. 

“The carriage is at the door, ma’am,” said 
the butler. 

“Yes, yes. I’m ready,” cried Monica, start- 
ing up. 

21 


322 The Plain Miss Cray. 

Beckingham came down with a carefully- 
prepared face of condolence which deceived 
nobody. 

“ What’s this, what’s this, I hear ? Monica 
obliged to go away suddenly ? No family be- 
reavement, I hope ? ” 

And he advanced his curious eyes close to 
her face. 

Mrs. Laffan put herself between him and 
Monica. 

“Oh, my dear child, must you go?” she 
whispered. 

Beckingham, by no means put out by the 
snub he had received, trotted over to Mrs. 
Cray, and croaked out gleefully into her 
ear — 

“ Looks like a split up, doesn’t it, going away 
suddenly like this ? ” 

Mrs. Cray, who disliked Monica, looked 
across at her severely. 

“ You don’t think she’ll come back ? ” she 
asked in a low voice. ^ 

Beckingham did his best not to chuckle. 

“ Well, so I’m beginning to hope— I mean 
think,” said he, hurriedly correcting himself 
on the last word. 

“ Monica, meanwhile, was preparing to make 
her farewells. She had left old Mrs. Laffan s 
side, had passed Martin, who was looking at 
her with tender watchfulness, eloquent of his 


An Accident. 


323 • 


feelings, and was holding out her hand to Mrs. 
Cray, who took it coldly enough. 

Then she turned to Beckingham, whose 
effusiveness was as oppressive as Mrs. Cray’s 
coldness had been. 

“ I do hope,” said he, as he held her unwill- 
ing hand in his, “ that you won’t stay away 
from us very long ? ” 

At that moment there was a little involun- 
tary movement and stir among the onlookers. 
It had been caused by no word, but by a sud- 
den change in Martin’s face, which seemed to 
flash upon them all, as he raised his head and 
looked at Monica. Before she could get away 
from Beckingham, she found Martin’s hand 
upon hers, and it was he who disengaged her 
from the malevolent old man. 

“You may be quite sure she won’t stay 
away long, uncle,” said he, in a clear voice 
that could be heard all over the room, “ I can 
answer for it.” 

Beckingham’s face fell a little. Mrs. Jes- 
mond-Cray spoke rather acidly. 

“You allow your wife plenty of freedom, 
Mr. Laffan!” 

Martin, without releasing Monica, who was 
faintly struggling to get away, turned to her 
with a commanding air. 

“Not quite so much as you think, or as she 
expects, as you will see,” said he, very quietly, 


324 The Plain Miss Cray. 

but with great firmness. He turned to the 
butler. “ Prickett, the carriage won’t be 
wanted to-night.” Monica started violently, 
and tried in vain to withdraw her arm from 
his grasp. He only laughed a little, and, as if 
to support her, threw his arm round her waist. 
“ You’re much too tired to start to-night, and 
it’s too late besides,” said he. “ Put it off fill 
the morning, and my mother will go with 
you.” Mrs. Laffan and Monica exchanged 
glances of astonishment, but into the face of 
the elder lady there came a look of pride and 
pleasure at the manful tone her son was taking, 
for she felt that he knew where his happiness 
lay, and that he meant to keep it. “ You see, 
Mrs. Cray,” went on Martin, quietly, with a 
tender glance down at the beautiful head that 
was bent under his gaze, “Monica wants a 
change of air badly. She’s been a good deal 
pulled down by her devotion to me while I 
was ill, and to-night she has had a great shock.” 

At that Monica uttered a little cry, and rais- 
ing her head abruptly, tried to speak. Martin 
stopped her, good-humoredly putting his hand 
over her mouth, as he went on, — 

“ Sh— sh. I’ll explain. You must know, Mrs. 
Cray, there really was a burglar, as you thought. 
And Monica saw him, but wouldn’t alarm us 
by telling us of it. But—” As he went on, 
his supporting arrn came more closely round 


An Accident. 


325 

Monica’s form, and he watched her intently as 
her agitation grew with every word, “ he was 
seen and followed by a man.” 

There was a muttered exclamation from 
Luke, who came forward at these words from 
his master. Monica looked .at him with a 
strained expression of awe, fear and horror in 
her' eyes, but she uttered no sound. 

“ By Luke here, in fact,” went on Martin. 
“ Luke sent a shot after him ” — Monica drew 
a sharp breath — “ just to frighten him — and — 
and — by accident, of course — ” 

He stopped, checked by the wild look in 
Monica’s eyes as she slowly turned them upon 
his face. Luke went on with his master’s 
broken speech briskly enough. 

“ By accident, of course,” said he, demurely, 
“ I killed him.” Monica covered her face, and 
was saved from falling by Martin’s arms. 
“You don’t think they’ll be afther bringing it 
in more than manslaughter, do ye, sor-r ? ” 
went on the Scamp, turning to his master. 

Martin looked at him gravely. 

“ I think not, Luke. We’ll do our best for 
you,” he said. 

Beckingham, who had grown livid with rage 
while this explanation went on, came down 
the room with his shuffling step, and addressed 
Monica in a tone the animosity of which was 
unmistakable. 


326 The Plain Miss Cray. 

“ And pray, what does Mrs. Martin think of 
the killing of — of this man ? ” asked he. 

Martin quietly moved in such a way as to 
intercept Beckingham’s view of the shaken, 
trembling woman. 

“ She echoes my sentiments about it, as a 
good wife should,” said he. 

With a long face and a crestfallen manner, 
Beckingham moved away. 

“ I shall go back to London to-morrow,” said 
he. 

And nobody tried to persuade him to stay. 

It was over, the revenge, the explanation. 
Monica was free to acknowledge her love, to 
give herself to the man who had won her heart 
by his generosity, who had forgiven her for 
her sin against himself, with noble pity and 
greatness of soul. 

The tension which had been on the spirits 
of all the party was removed, and Oswin and 
Martin looked each other full in the eyes with 
a frank smile. 

“ What about the desert island now, eh ? ” 
asked the latter, with a merry glance at Ethel. 

“ I’m quite ready, if you can find one,” re- 
plied Oswin, imperturbably. “ Only now I 
shouldn’t propose to go there alone ! ” 

“You’re cured,” said Martin, with a grave 
nod, as he unfastened Monica’s cloak. 

There was an anxious time to be gone 


An Accident. 


327 

through still ; there were difficulties to be 
faced and overcome before Monica could come 
back to the home of the man who loved her, 
his wife in fact as she had already been in 
name. But they could now be content to wait, 
sure each of the other’s heart, and of the hap- 
piness to come. 


THE END. 


A Splendid Sin 


By GRANT ALLEN 

27s pageSy size Clothe Three Stampings^ $1.00 

The title of this book implies audacity, and in this it is 
true to its teachings. Mr. Allen’s independent line of thought 
was never more clearly defined, and the ‘ ‘ splendor” of the 
sin really takes our breath away. Mr. Allen was always 
perfectly frank about pot boiling, and therefore took some 
ground from his critic, but he never lost his power to tell an 
entertaining story, no matter how startling or improbable it 
was, nor with what rapidity he dashed it off. “ The Woman 
Who Did’ ’ was a difficult heroine to accept, but even she is 
mild compared to Mrs. Egremont’s achievements in the line 
of independent action in “A Splendid Sin.” It would be a 
pity to take the zest from the reader by outlining the plot, 
whose chief charm lies in its surprises. Sufficient to say that 
here is a problem novel with a vengeance, and the spectacle 
of an illegitimate son ordering his mother’s lawful husband 
out of her house in righteous indignation at his existence is 
an example of advanced thought rarely met with in every- 
day life. — The Commercial Advertiser y Nov. 18, 1899. 

“A Splendid Sin,” by Grant Allen, has just been pub- 
lished by F. M. Buckles & Co. It is one of the latest works 
written by the noted author, of whose untimely death we 
have j ust learned . It will Idc treasured as one of his best 
novels by the large number of readers who peruse with inter- 
est all productions from his pen. It is a study of an act 
which is universally condemned as a sin. Not in itself as a 
saving power, but its disclosure comes to an illegitimate son 
as a blessing, making a happy marriage possible, and saving 
all concerned from disgrace and misery. Even the sin itself 
is made to appear lovely and proper in comparison with that 
other sin which the world readily excuses, namely, the forc- 
ing of a marriage where there is no true love or mutual re- 
spect. It is a story to please by its plot and action and char- 
acter drawing, and also to set one thinking upon some of the 
serious problems of life. 

— Evening Telegram y N. K., Nov. 9, 1899. 

At all booksellers or will be sent^ 
postpaid^ upon receipt of price by 

F. M. BUCKLES COM PANT 

g-li East j6th Street, New York 


yoaUy the Curate 


By FLORENCE IVARBEN 

^o8 pageSy sizi 73 ^ x^y clothe g stampings^ $1.00 


The time of the 3tory is 1748, its scene being along the seacoast of Sussex, England. 
The doings here of the “free traders,” as they called themselves, or smugglers, as the 
government named them, had become so audacious that a revenue cutter with a smart 
young lieutenant in command, and a brigade of cavalry, were sent down to work together 
against the offenders. Everybody in the village seems engaged in evading the revenue 
laws, and the events are very exciting. Joan is the parson’s daughter, and so capable and 
useful in the parish that she is called “the curate.” She and the smart young lientenant 
arc the characters in a romance. — Book Notes, May, 1899. 

The author of the once immensely popular “ House on the Marsh ” turns in her new 
story to the Sussex coast as it was in the middle of the last century. The time and the 
place will at once suggest smugglers to the observant reader, and, in truth, these gentry 
play an important part in the tale . — Fhe Mail and Express, April 1 1 , 1899. 

Miss Florence Warden in “Joan, the Curate” (F. M. Buckles & Co.) tells an or- 
thodox tale of smugglers in the last century with plenty of exciting adventures and no de- 
viations from the accepted traditions of a familiar pattern in fiction. 

— N, T, Sun, May 6, 1899. 

“Joan, the Curate” (Joan, a creamy-skinned, blackeyed maiden, gets her surname on 
account of the part she plays in helping her father. Parson Langley, with his duties), is a 
village tale of the smuggling days on the wild marsh coast of Kent and the equally lonely 
cliffs of Sussex. The village is a hot-bed of these daring “ free-traders,” even the parson 
and his daughter are secretly in sympathy with them, and young Lieutenant Tregenna, 
who is in command of the revenue cutter sent to overawe the natives, has anything but a 
comfortable task to perform. His difficulties only increase when he falls in love with Joan 
and discovers her leanings towards the illegalities of the village, and when, at the same 
time, the audacious leader of the smugglers, Ann Price, who carries on her trade disguised 
as a man, falls in love with him herself, the complications are almost bewildering. The 
story moves through countless adventures, sanguinary fights, and lovers’ quarrels to the 
conventionally happy ending and the partial return of the fishermen to honest ways. 

=^Book NewSy May, 1899^ 


At all booksellers or will he sent^ 
postpaid, upon receipt of price by 

F, M. BUCKLES ^ COMP ANT 

g-ii East i6tk Street, New York 


The Real Lady Hilda 

By B. M. CROKER 

266 pages ^ sizes, 7}^^Si cloth, j stampings, $1.00 


*<The Real Lady Hilda,’’ by B. M. Croker, is a very pleasing novel, de- 
pending for its interest not upon sensational incident, but upon a clever portrayal of 
disagreeable traits of character in high society. The story is told by a young lady 
who finds herself with her stepmother in obscure lodgings in an obscure country 
town. The head of the family had been physician to a Rajah in India, had lived 
in princely style and had entertained in princely fashion. He had died and left to 
his widow and child nothing but a small pension, and thev soon found themselves 
in straightened circumstances. Besides the character drawing, the entertaining 
feature of the story lies in the shabby treatment which the two impecunious 
women receive from the people whom they have so royally entertained in India, 
and the inability of the widow, with her Indian experience, to understand it. 
Entertaining, too, is the fawning toadyism of the middle-class women, who disdain- 
fully tip their noses and wag their tongues when they find that the poor women are 
neglected by the great lady in the neighborhood. 

— The Bookseller, Ne^wsdealer and Stationer, June I, 1899. 

Mrs. Croker belongs to the group of English country life novelists. She is 
not one of its chief members, but she succeeds often in being amusing in a quiet, 
simple way. Her gentlefolk lack the stamp of caste, but the plots in which they 
are placed are generally rather ingenious. Of course, in a field so assiduously 
worked, one cannot look for originality. The present book is just what the author 
modestly calls it — a “sketch,” with the usual poor girl of good family and the 
equally familiar happy ending . — Mail and Express, May i, 1899. 


At all booksellers or will be sent, 
postpaid, upon receipt of price by 

F. M. BUCKLES ^ COMP ANT 

§t-ii East i6th Street, New York 


The Good Mrs, Hypocrite 


By “RITA'' 

284. pages ^ size 7 ^ ^ 5 , cloth ^ g stampings^ $t.oo 

“Good Mrs, Hypocrite.** A study in self-righteousness, is a most enjoyable 
novel by “Rita.** It has little of plot, and less of adventure, but is the study of 
a angle character and a narration of her career. But she is sufficiently unique to 
absorb the attention, and her purely domestic experiences are quite amusing. She 
is the youngest daughter of a Scotch family, angular as to form and sour as to fea- 
ture. She had an aggressive manner, was selfish, and from girlhood set herself 
against all tenderness of sentiment. Losing her parents, she tried her hand as a 
governess, went to her brother in Australia, returned to England and joined a sister- 
hood in strange garb, and her quarrelsome disposition and her habit of quoting 
scripture to set herself right made her presence everywhere objectionable. For this 
jld maid was very religious and strict as to all outward forms. Finally she went to 
ive with an invalid brother. She discharged the servant, chiefly because she was 
plump and fair of feature, and she replaced her with a maid as angular as herself, 
straight from Edinbro*. The maid was also religious and quoted scripture, and the 
fun of the story lies in the manner in which the woman who had had her way so 
long was beaten by her own weapons. 

— Bookseller^ Newsdealer and Stationer ^ June 15, 1899* 

The Scotch character is held up in this story at its worst. All its harshness, 
love of money, unconscious hypocrisy, which believes in lip-service while serving 
but its own self, are concentrated in the figure of the old spinster who takes charge 
of her invalid brother* s household. She finds a match, however, in the Scotch 
servant she hires, hard like herself, but with the undemonstrative kindness that 
seems to be a virtue of the race. The book lacks the charm that lies at the root 
of the popularity of the books of the “Kailyard** school. In its disagreeable 
way, however, it is consistent, though the melodramatic climax is not the ending 
one has a right to expect . — The Mail and Express^ June 21, 1899, 


At all booksellers or will be sent^ 
postpaid^ upon receipt of price by 

F. M. BUCKLES & CO MPA NT 

g-ii East i6th Street, New York 


Captain yackman 


By PF. CLARK RUSSELL 


24.0 pages ^ size ^ 5 , cloth ^ j stampings^ $1,00 


Clark Russell in “ Captain Jackman ” has told a good story of the strange conduct of 
a ship’s master, who starts out with a fake robbery by which he realizes ;^i5oo. The ac 
count of his peculiar courtship and the odll more peculiar acceptance of his offer by the 
daughter of a retired naval commander is scarcely credible, but it is readable and the tragic 
end is not improbable. It is a mere short story, expanded by large type into a volume. 

— San Francisco Chronicle^ July 9, 1899. 

“ Captain Jackman ; or, A Tale of Two Tunnels,” is a story by W. Clark Russell, 
not so elaborate in plot as some of his stories, or so full of life on the sea, but some of the 
characters are sailors, and its incidents are of the ocean, if not on it. Its hero is dismissed 
from the command of a ship by her owners, because of his loss of the proceeds of a voyage, 
which they evidently think he had appropriated to himself. The heroine discovers him in 
and rescues him from a deserted smuggler’s cave, where he had by some mischance im- 
prisoned himself. He handsome, she romantic as well, they fall in love with each other. 
Her father, a retired commander of the Royal navy, storms and swears to no purpose, fof 
she elopes with the handsome captain, who starts on an expedition to^capture a Portuguese 
ship laden with gold— « mad scheme, conceived as it appears by a madman, which ac 
counts for his curious and unconventional ways, 

— Bookseller^ Newsdealer and Stationer^ July, IS> 1899. 

It is readable, interesting, and admirable in its technical skill. Mr, Russell, without 
apparent effort, creates an atmosphere of realism. His personages are often drawn with a 
few indicative strokes, but this can never be said of his central figures. In the present little 
story the fascinating personality of Captain Jackman stands our very clearly. He is a cur. 
ious study, and the abnornial state of his mind is made to come slowly into the recogni. 
tion of the reader just as it does into that of old Commander Conway, R. N. ^ This is really 
a masterly bit of story-craft, for it is to this that the maintenance of the interest of the 
story is due. The reader does not realize at first that he is following the fortunes of a mad- 
man, but regards Jackman as a brilliant adventurer. The denouement is excellently brought 
'bout, although it gives the tale its sketchy character.— iVT. r. ‘times^ July 1, 1S99. • 


At all booksellers or will be sent, 
postpaid^ upon receipt of price by 


F. M. BUCKLES & COMPANY 

g-ii East 1 6 th Street, New York 


A Rogue's Conscience 


By DAVID CHRISTIE MURRAT 

jii pages y size 7% x^y cloth y j stampings y $i.00 


It h rather unusual to find a detective story written from the criminal’s 
point of view, and truth to tell, in this “ Rogue’s Conscience,” by David 
Christie Murray, we find jour smypathies and anxieties strongly following 
the hunted ones. Mr. James Mortimer and Mr. Alexander Ross were such 
entertaining sinners, and their disguises were so marvellous, and their 
escapes so hair-breath, that we follow the comedy of their fortunes with un- 
failing cheerfulness. When the scene shifts from city risks to the broad field 
of mining camp speculations, we see the beginning of the end, for here the 
“rogue’s conscience” commenced to work, and a double reformation ends the 
book in a blaze of glory. Tbc story has just enough seriousness to give it 
balance but by no means enough to destroy the pleasantly light and entertain- 
ing quality of the book. — Literary fVorld, August 5, 18^. 

David Christie Murray has written an amusing tale of two unworthies In 
“A Rogue’s Conscience.’*^ “ If you want to enlighten a rogue’s conscience, 
serve him as he served other people — rob him,” observes the “ hero,” who 
has acquired the “ sixth sense of honesty.” How he arrived at this sage con- 
clusion, and how he put the principle into effect, all tend toward the live 
human interest of a story which shows no sign of lagging from beginning to 
end. The tale is not free from tragedy, but even the sombre parts are handled 
easily and lightly, as though the author believed them necessary, but yet felt 
freer in the atmosphere of almost light-hearted roguery which pervades most 
of the volume. The book is capital reading for a summer afternoon, and 
action lurks on every page. — American^ August 31, 1899. 

Two rogues, who figure in the novel as James Mortimer and Alexander 
Ross, in alliance with a third scamp, forged an issue of the Bank of England, 
The nameless third paid the penalty of his crime, but Mortimer and Ross, 
through the clever scheming of Mortimer, escaped to British Columbia after 
having added to their ill-gotten gains. Mortimer, apparently the most un- 
scrupulous, makes the singular atonement which transforms him into a hero. 

\ — Publishers^ Weekly y Ju' 22, 1899^ 


At all booksellers or will he sent, 
postpaidy upon receipt of price by 

F. M. BUCKLES & COMP A NT 

Q-II East i6th Streety New York 


A Mali s ,■ Undoing 

By Mrs. H. LOVETT CAMEROh' 

333 7% ^iothy j stampings y $i.00 


A retircQ English officer, returned to his widowed mother’s quiet home ia 
.he country, finds his undoing in idleness, which leads him into a flirtation 
A^ith a girl socially and intellectually his inferior, but who is clever enough t< 
force marriage upon him. Then complications thicken, as the man discoven 
the full meaning of his fa^al mistake.^ 

— T’he Mail and Express.^ August lo, 1889. 

*‘A Man’s Undoing’- is an exceptionally good novel by Mrs. H. Lovett 
Cameron. It is not written to tickle the palate of the sated reader who is 
looking only for new sensations, nor is it intended to amuse for a short hour. 
It preaches no new doctrine ; it presents no novelties of character or incident. 
Its theme is as old as humanity — the burden of story and song through all the 
ages. But Mrs. Cameron shows that it has lost none of itf interest, that its 
phases may be presented in new aspects, that the conTcntionalities of modern 
civilization have not made it less a force in the affairs of men, nor obliterated 
any of its eternal truths. Its influence over the lives of men and women var- 
ies in extent and results, as the men and women vary in character, subject 
always to variations of condition and environment} therefore it always pre- 
sents new studies. All the world loves a lover, and no one knows better than 
Mrs. Cameron how to make a lover most interesting. Especially skillful is 
she in her delineations of women who love. She paints other women also to 
fill out her pictures — the narrow-minded old maids and the gossipy matrons, 
and none of her women are repellingly bad — but her women who love have all 
jhe nobility and strength of womanhood. As she deals with noble character, 
so she deals with the serious affairs of life, of strong emotions, of heart his- 
tories, with all their heroism and pathos, “A Man’s Undoing ” is admirably 
constructed. Its lessons will not be lost upon the thoughtful, and it will bo 
read with eager interest by all classes of novel readers. 

— Bookseller^ New sdealer and Stationer August 15, 1899. 

This is a good strong story } told with dramatic emphasis. It is not 
heavy; plenty light enough for summer reading; but the author, Mrs. H. 
Lovett Cameron, writes with the skill of a trained novelist, as, indeed, she is. 
How the man came to be undone, as the result of a one-week flirtation — that 
is for the readers to find out. The lover of a good story will not lay down the 
book until the last page is turned. The volume appears in a cloth cover of 
brown, black, red and green. The type is clear and good sized ; the paper 
good* and the pages number 333. — American.^ August Z4, 1899. 

At all booksellers or will be senty 
postpaidy upon receipt of price bj 

F, jvi. BUCKLES & CO MPA NT 

g-ll East i6tb Streety New York 




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